1: Hammer of Thor Chronicles: To Be An Elite
by La Aardvark
Summary: What it takes to be one of the elite few, and what steel and resolve it requires to stay one. Captured by the enemy, freed by a friend... they are one and the same individual? Leveling with reality can sometimes be hard to do.
1. End Lit Tunnels

One; End-lit Tunnels _SIERRA 093 – FLINT _

Everyone else was vapor. The sky was all mine. Something screamed on the left. It was an automated alarm, one we had all been trained to recognize. The computational units were blowing out one by one, and I was going down. The entire cockpit was a flashing array of lights and smoke – ah, smoke. It was technically fumes but liquid metals and flash-vaporized coolant from breached lines can fool a fellow to think of it as smoke, because it was as black as the emissions from burning rubber. Impact hurt like hell. Now I was spinning, and the centrifugal forces were enough to break bones. The structural integrity had already been compromised but when I hit that first something… it was really hard… a length of steel strut came spearing through the pit, clawed a length of paint from the inside of one calf and went between my knees, closing the gap between my lap and my chest to pin my shoulder to the seat I was in like a giant safety pin.

My head rolled forward; I was unable to breathe the processed atmosphere inside the pressurized mask on my face, unable to see past the fumes or the sweat. My visor had filmed over, a residue that resembled condensation. The sound of cracks forming in sharp sections in a plate of glass soon gave way to that horrible shattering scream of it flying to pieces. Shards rained across my armored hide, creating an almost melodic song as the glass sprinkled on metal. I was going down. Secondary impact felt more like a searing burn, the feeling of terrain sliding across the underside of the hull reverberating up through the craft to the cockpit and through; hot, unforgiving wind clawed at my head, even as the shaking craft finally slid to a halt.

That bone-jarring tipping point, where the little ship found something harder than its nose and flexed slightly in its self-dug grave before relaxing and settling into the seared dirt it had plowed proved as bad as secondary impact. Doubtless that furrow was several hundred meters long. The agonizing vibration of sliding had certainly lasted long enough.

Wind howled through the broken plasmodia-lace glass shield, howled under the growing towers of billowing fumes and smoke, as heat from some areas lessened and in others increased. Nausea overwhelmed. I couldn't lift my head, but for as much as the weakness commanded my lolling actions, I knew if I stayed in the wounded ship, I would die with her.

_Raptor 11_, that's what her name was. Delta squadron… an extension of the 51st. The memory faded. I couldn't recognize what feeling it was that came to haunt me then until I remembered, but in that brief moment I knew and understood I was going to die. _Raptor 11_ was a ticking time bomb now, her fuel lines breached and her hull partially boiled away. Fragments missing, sections torn… she was a shredded mess. So was I. I held no grasp on reality, but I didn't, couldn't, care. My eyes had closed, as my ragged, shallow and liquid breath began to slow. The part of the Longsword thrust through my shoulder holding me in my seat was the selfsame part of her that I had stroked, just running my hands over her magnificent form as I admired her… before this fateful, final flight of the last Longsword flyer.

Fear. Yes, fear. I knew what it was now. I was afraid… and then I blacked out.

_FIELD MASTER __–__ G'WI 'CAERVASNEE_

Humans, just over that ridge. That's what they kept saying. Just over that ridge, just around that corner, just past that hill. Frankly I was sick of it, was ready to kill them to make them shut up. The aerial battle above us had gone well, surprisingly. Honored pilots in victory yet again. The scourge that was Humanity was being swept aside and turned under, scraped off the collective boot of the Holy Covenant. And well that it should.

But why me! How I had begged, but no one had heard my plea. Why could I never obtain a _real_ combat post? The Unggoy under my command had sickened of my words and I of theirs, but we had become as like kin, united in our frustrations. Always were we the last to a scene, always were we pushed back and "held in reserve"… ha! As if we would buy that! Honorable position my rotting ass. I could have sworn I would have bled for my cause by now. Could have sworn I would have been making my enemy bleed for theirs.

Really, though, the scenery on this one wasn't that bad. With the UNSC sparkle in the sky and the pleasant hues of green shaded against a brilliant yellow dwarf sun… ah, it wasn't so bad. But it was still boring. A grunt hopped too near to my side and bumped his little head against my hand, but all I could do in response was laugh. Yes, it was that bad. We were miserable… my Unggoy and I. Coming upon a shallow valley between cliff faces – we weren't precisely in a mountain range so much as some weird form of canyon matrix where all the good stuff was down in the cracks – we headed in, following a small stream that wound gently down through the middle of it all.

The patrol was useless. Humans in the area had been wiped out long, long time ago, and I and my team were just for show. My only Sangheili companion, Welav 'Dedekilee, was toodling along at the rear of the group just for the hell of it. Sometimes I did that. There was no point in standard formation when no one was looking and it didn't matter anyway because there was no engagement. I couldn't understand what I… what _we_… had collectively done so wrong to be treated this way.

Personally, I couldn't recall sleeping with any High Councilor's daughters, or mentioning the color of the Prophet's undergarments in public, but… I had spent the last five years wracking my brains and had come up with nothing. I wanted nothing more than these two things the most; first, I wanted to know why I was being _kept_ "in reserve" when there was no point in keeping _anyone_ there. And naturally, second, I wanted it to st –

Crap! Shit! Shit! Fire and thunder suddenly surrounded everything, and screaming Unggoy were going in all directions. My hand found my t-25DER quickly enough, but I was choking on the fumes and smoke and grit just like everyone else was, staggering about seeking clean air. Impact of something huge and heavy rattled us all from our feet, rattled our very skeletal frames, but when I started to rise and run in some randomly selected direction I never expected to be the only one who chose the _right_ random direction that day. Behind my racing hooves came sailing in what remained of a Human fighter craft, and I thought for sure it was going to mow me down like chaff, and then blow up on top of my team like they always did in those short, captured surveillance films I had seen some of.

But though I was knocked from my hooves yet again in (I admit) bawling protest, the bird landed hard and sailed clear of my position, to rain fiery hell down as it threw a furrow up, plowing under the pretty little valley and most certainly drying out that stream! Choking and coughing, I pressed the ground away from my face, and lifted my head to look after the retreating, ruined crashing plane.

Humans called them Longswords. I called them sparkle, but that only applied when they were destroyed, and in vacuum, because they tended to become flames and shrapnel when in atmosphere. This one, while crashed, appeared more or less intact. Rising to a knee, I pushed my hooves beneath me, and wiped the grit from my mandibles before starting the trek between myself and where I thought I would find my team.

Running screaming in terror was not without honor, I surmised, when one has a Longsword falling onto one's head… but I couldn't find much in the way of even remains. Every last one of my Unggoy had blown to shreds, their tanks popping and embroiling, adding to the falling ship's contrail of smoke and fire. But my companion Sangheili warrior… 'Dedekilee… him I only sort of found, in part and in pieces.

He'd been the unlucky soul who was landed directly on when the bird finally hit ground, and his body had been smeared rather gruesomely all along the bottom of that furrow… which meant, yes, he was quite thoroughly cooked solid. No blood I could discern, because of this, and none of his armor or equipment remained the same shape.

Truthfully there was nothing left of him. Just char. Looking at the now-still ship, I wondered whether to be thrilled at the prospect of something other than fatal boredom, or enraged at the loss of all those I had been condemned to said boredom with. If that Human pilot was still alive, I vowed on the spot, he soon would wish he wasn't.

Trotting to close the gap, I hopped first onto the wing and then back off, calling like some little juvenile female for the heat I had suddenly discovered through the soles of my combat shoes. _Damn_ but that ship was hot! Hotter than hell! Hissing and stepping from hoof to hoof even though I wasn't walking, I waved my fists at the dead bird before me. It had no cockpit shield, though, so I stepped lightly down to the fore of the crumpled craft and peeked in.

"By the Prophets!" The words escaped me even before I realized I had spoken. The Human inside the pit was one of those fabled super-warriors that had been bred special for combating overwhelming odds… like my own side of the current war. One of said individuals, designated by two numbers; two ones, and a seven, had been reported as seen on our most precious holy relic. A giant hoop-thing, something the Forerunners had built… personally I had my doubts that it was really Halo. There was just too much Forerunner junk floating around to be sure, from my perspective, but still, Forerunner architecture was hardly somewhere I'd like to see a Human. They would soil its very existence with their infidel souls.

Or… so spoke the Prophets, selfsame fellows who had condemned me and mine for a non-crime that I hadn't even managed to isolate from all my other non-criminal actions, thus far. Who was to say they weren't wrong about that hoop-thingy even being Forerunner?

Back to point – I reached in, but the Spartan had been speared through, and the constant, impatient static crackling across his combat skin told me he had no shielding and wouldn't until said spear was removed. I could see no way of doing that, though, so I sat back and thought for a time. If he was dead, I was going to rip my own eyes out for the boredom of isolation and loss – if he was alive, I'd rip out his instead. But I had no intention of fighting with his superheated craft, so I needed to extricate him from it before anything else could happen accordingly. With a sigh, I powered up my energy blade, and I first sliced through the part that would have hindered my pulling his doubtless heavy person from said indicated fighter-craft. When I finally got that to fall away, I was hit in the face with a blast of fumes and vapor and smoke, and sent staggering, reeling back from it to drop to a knee and retch my previous meal.

Oh, nice. Wiping the remains of it from my mandibles, I pushed back upright, and returned to the ship. I had to slice through the front part of the frame shaft, then the back of the pilot's chair until said item had been verily shredded and was smoldering for such lengthy exposure to my blade, but I finally got the unfortunate Spartan free, and then I discovered how heavy he really was.

This was no small Human. He was neither lanky nor especially thin, but though he could have looked me in the eye without bending much to do so, his mass and bulk more than made up for his proportions and at a glance without comparison one would assume he was normal Human-sized. I wasn't sure if it was his carcass or his armor, though, that held him to that seat, but I wasn't going to be so easily defeated.

Hooking my arms under his, I braced both hooves opposite him on the sill where the pit shield had been, and slowly curled upwards. He seemed to come free easily enough like that, and hopping from the top of the cockpit to the ground was easy too. Keeping from being buried by the anchor in my arms was not, but somehow I managed.

Rising from my knees, I slung the Human over a shoulder, and began to carry my prize away. If ships came down in my valley, I didn't want to be in my valley anymore. The last thing I wanted to look like was my good buddy 'Dedekilee. The detonation of the Longsword's remains only solidified that idea for me, and I spared it only a brief glance before resuming my journey.

_SIERRA 093 – FLINT _

Was this hell?

I mentally apologized for the presumptuous thought, but then I just turned right around and found myself giving that theory some serious consideration. The odds that it was indeed some alter form of a divine trash bin, and I had fallen into it, I was honestly no worse off than before. All I needed was a gun, some ammo, and a few good friends here and there would be nice too. But I had managed without that last before, so I was in no immediate danger.

Still, right now I was in more personal agony than I had previously known… though I had to admit I had never been shot down before either, so this whole escapade was a new one on me. I could taste blood in my mouth but I wasn't sure if I had coughed it up or I'd bitten my own tongue, so I tried a systems' check of the rest of my battered carcass.

117 would have been ashamed of me, falling down on the job like this. I was supposed to be making sure the UNSC didn't fail miserably out here, just like he was, out at Reach… except suddenly no one knew where he was anymore, not even the Pillar of Autumn. The cruiser squadron I had been dispatched with was probably long gone by now, leaving me in the heart of the expanding Covenant frontier.

So if this was hell, then I'd be needing… I suddenly realized my eyes had opened, and it was about that point that I realized I wasn't wearing my helmet anymore. Bright blue sky came into focus, past an overhang of stone and dirt, the occasional root ball hanging down from that… wait. Wasn't I in a Longsword fighter? Turning my head to the best of my ability, I saw then that I was now laid out flat on the side of a grassy knoll, tucked up under some leaning cliff face. Out there beyond said hill was just more of the same, maybe that dark streak was some form of water or something.

Finally, the rest of me started working again. Lifting my head, I rolled my shoulders to sit up, but though I managed to get that far, I didn't get too much farther as I crunched my face up for the still-present injury in one of them. Touching my chin to my collarbones, I frowned at the I-beam shaped bar of metal still protruding from the injury. But being possessed of an analytical mind didn't allow much time to dwell – I soon realized the nature of the cut that had been made through that bar, and I knew then to look for some Covenant companion, likely my captor.

Why I was still alive despite surviving the crash then came to mind, but though I didn't immediately see anything Covenant, I also hadn't been tied up or down or to anything stationary, so… now I was just puzzled. Taking the end of the bar in my good hand, I tried to pull it out. It wasn't that it hurt too damn much to make myself do it, but I found quickly that it was in a custom hole in my Mjolnir-clad shoulder, and I wasn't going to get it back out any time soon, not without help. It was stuck, and unless I moved my arm, it wasn't even going to wiggle. With a resigned sigh, I picked myself the rest of the way up and started to walk, though I didn't get far before I spotted my helmet.

It was in the hand of one of those Covie bastards, the kind that like to laugh at you when you fall dead, and complain when you put up a decent fight. This one was just staring at me, though, in perfect silence. He had guns, I noted sourly, and I did not, not to mention he had my helmet too. That changed; for reasons undisclosed to me, he threw it at me, forcing me to catch it one handed or be brained by it.

My aim was better than his, though, and I did catch it, though getting it back on my head was a trick, with just the one arm to work with. By the time I had the thing settled and could see through the visor again, he'd gotten a lot closer, but I forestalled my notion to break his neck (he was that close) when he wrapped one hand around that bar and anchored his other against my afflicted shoulder. I held as still as I dared, considering who was giving me the aid, but it still took the guy a full minute of hard tugging (and nearly knocked me over twice) to get the bar out of my shoulder.

A sudden wave of nausea washed past me, but I didn't see the gush of blood pouring from the suddenly open wound until much later – which meant it was dripping all over the grass at our feet when I noticed it. Bad as that was, then the stinking bastard stuck his energy sword in the hole and lit it off. That made me scream.

I wasn't sure how or when, but I had driven to my knees by that point, wavering without balance even as such, the bad arm curled against my chest and the good hand over the hole in the front. The one in back had too much armor to even stick my longest fingers down into and reach meat. I was wounded, and lightheaded, and on my knees in front of a Covie bastard… gathering my wits, I looked up at him. Surely he knew better than to try to take a Spartan alive. I was going to kill him, soon as I got my feet back under me.

But first… need to do something about that damned shield meter alarm.

_FIELD MASTER __–__ G'WI 'CAERVASNEE_

I had never thought a Demon could scream like that. It was something of a surprise to me to see him upright so soon, but being an augment meant little to me, so I had expected to be surprised… I guess. Just not that way. Getting the bar out of his shoulder had proven tedious, but he'd toppled almost as soon as the thing came free.

More blood than I had thought belonged in a shoulder came pouring out of that gaping hole, but by then he'd sunk to a knee, acting lightheaded. If I had lost that much blood that fast, I think I would have been no better, but it still garnered a small sense of satisfaction that lonely me could bring one of the Human's best to their knees without (relatively speaking) much effort.

Standing that close to a living Spartan was a little unnerving, though, as I had neither a great deal of field experience nor had I any special training to be the best at whatever task or duty. I was just a field grunt, even if the Unggoy still called me an Elite. I walked around behind my captive, wondering what I was going to do with him – dragging his battered and perforated carcass halfway across a continent to the base I had been deployed from didn't sound appealing, especially since I had gotten to this locale in a dropship. But calling in someone to pick us up didn't sound too appealing either – after all, if I lost custody of this fellow, I would be forgotten and pushed aside yet again. Here, I suddenly realized, was my biggest opportunity to get out of my little rut.

_You saved my sanity_, I thought, staring at the back of the Spartan's helmet. If I delivered a live Spartan to the Prophets to torture or whatever… parade around and boast with… who knew what honor or accolade I might receive? I smiled, then, feeling suddenly rather grateful to the miserable form hunched before me. He would make one last use of himself, before he died.

Oh, I was going to take very good care of this one… he was the embodiment of my ascension. Taking my field medical kit, I spread the contents on the ground, before addressing the Human's injury again – it was cauterized now, but it was still going to be a bother if it didn't get better attention. He had to stay alive – or at least coherent – until the Covenant came to get me. I had a lot of trouble with getting past his armor, but it wasn't that bad – considering some of it was redirected into his shoulder, and I had to peel that out, it did give me a little more room to operate in, although at the same time I had no idea what kind of anatomy I was messing with and would have far rathered I could remove the armor vest entirely… but pickers couldn't be choosers.

And I was a notch below a picker. I was a beggar, but so far as I could tell, I was the beggar who had found the gold nugget in the sands of a lost section of land, and I was not going to let it slip through my fingers. Any Human could be poked into some semblance of that armor suit, but a living one would need to be an honest Spartan or merely curling the fingers on his hand would break all the bones in that arm. I still didn't understand why, but that was just the truth of the matter. Humans were odd in that fashion, making custom cuts that only a certain criteria could meet… and isolating its use down to a few good individuals. Which meant if the suit was good, but the Human was dead, then the suit was as useless as if it had been completely destroyed.

He sat still, for most of the time I spent working on his injury, but he flinched away when I was almost done, making me wonder if I had touched a nerve ending or something, but after the initial reaction he again was still. After I was done, though, he decided to become a pain. Taking off the ground like he meant to undo me, he caught the lip of my armor vest and sent his other fist – the one attached to his good arm – flying at my face.

But, since the one hanging onto me was weakened, I easily shrugged it off and dodged the blow, before responding with a double-fist into his gut, which bowled him over onto his back with a pained grunt. He was going to get up again when I planted a hoof on his chest and leveled my t-25DER at his face. This inspired some quiet thought before he decided to say something, rather than hit me again.

"If you don't kill me," he said, "I'm going to kill you. You can't keep me hostage."

Hostage!! Ha ha ha! What a notion! Hostages were traded for demands back to those from whence they had come. No, this Spartan was not a hostage, because he wasn't going to be ransomed to Humanity. He was going to be ransomed to the Covenant, because Humanity had nothing I wanted, though the Covenant did, and both were equally desiring to have Spartans – one to use them against the Covenant, the other to publicly tear them limb from limb, videotape it, and mail the tape to Humanity to watch.

This poor sot hadn't a clue.

"Get your foot off me." He was talking again.

"Why would I do that?" I wondered aloud. I caught his hand reaching for my ankle and smacked it aside with my rifle.

"I'll kill you!" He screamed, sending it back and this time unseating my hoof from atop him, but in response to that I just gave him a hard kick. He rolled, stuck an arm out to stop, and picked himself up with his good arm before stalking back and attacking again.

"Don't make me ruin that armor of yours!" I threatened, but it was as if he couldn't hear me. I snarled; he caught that, I noted sourly. So I brained him with my t-25DER, sending him staggering back, but he returned as soon as he had his balance back, and this time I had to fend off a rain of blows, half of them half as powerful as they ought to have been. I seized him by the hole in his shoulder and his attention redirected to it, clamping both hands onto my wrist as I pulled him bodily off the ground and growled at him. "I want you alive." I said. "But I don't _need_ you alive. So don't make me mad, Human."

"Let go!" He clawed at my arm, my shoulder, tried to hit me again, to make me release him. I just sank my claws down through the meat on the inside of his shoulder, making him scream again. He buckled, struggling against my iron grip. "Let…" His tone had changed. "Just… please. Let go."

Ah, what the hell, he was too heavy to hold like this all day anyway, so I extended my arm and let go – he dropped onto his side, curled around that gaping wound, breathing so hard it came through the comns relays in his helmet. He killed a lot of grass dragging himself first from me and then back to his feet, but when he stood facing me again, he did so with squared shoulders. Without a weapon, this Spartan sure didn't amount to much… although he had some frighteningly quick reflexes. I pointed a bloody finger at him. "Mind your manners."

He stood there in silence, staring at me, until I turned away and cast my eyes across the sky, looking for any sign of Banshees or Phantoms… dropships of any kind, for that matter. Scouts, I didn't care. I didn't have provisions for a journey of the kind that it would be, getting back to that cruiser parked over the base. I felt something stir the air behind me, and spun about in time to catch the Spartan trying to pull a fast one on me, so I smacked a fist into his dark, shiny visor and watched as he dumped over backwards. He kicked one of my knees, from there, and then I went down in much the same manner. Curling back to my hooves, we met in the middle as he had done practically the same thing. I caught his good arm by the wrist and turned an elbow into his helmet, twisting him in two different directions at once. He came back with a feeble hit with his ruined arm, but it was enough to back me up a little and prime that fist for another hit. Clawing my fingers from his good arm, instead, he kept his grip on my hand and turned me partway to hit me in the back of the head, only I had ducked it, and all he did was loosen the seat of my own helmet.

I twisted down and back around to face him despite his left holding onto my left, and I picked up nearly my entire body to kick him in the middle – at the same time as catching his helmet and slapping his head around to the side. He fell, and brought me with him, but I was on top, and I caught that other, pseudo-wounded arm, and pinned both of his hands to the ground. "Enough, Spartan!" I snarled.

"Why won't you die!" He complained, twisting beneath me in an attempt to be freed.

"Because I'm too damn stubborn!" I shot back. "You pull something one more time and I'll end your sorry ass!"

He spent a couple of minutes lying still, huffing at me from behind that dark lens, but I'll be damned if I couldn't have sworn the Human was deaf or something. "You want to kill me? Huh? Then why don't you? What are you waiting for?" He wasn't taunting, which was where I got my theory. He honestly didn't understand my actions and really, really wanted to know what in the world I thought I was doing. And while I admit keeping a Spartan captive with nothing save my own wit and muscle to pull it off was not the brightest of my ideas, I couldn't quite grasp why he didn't appear to be able to hear what I was saying.

I had seen fellow Sangheili trying to talk to Humans that couldn't understand them, that was different. Lack of comprehension and not hearing were reacted to in very distinctive ways, and I knew for sure that unless he'd burst his drums in the crash or something, there was no reason why he should be playing stupid.

"You have two options, split lip." He added. "Kill me or let me kill you, but this little arrangement we have now just doesn't cut it and it won't last."

"Yes it will." I insisted. "Yes, it will."

"Come on!" He now sounded really frustrated. "Say _something_!"

"…what?" I was right! He was deaf! Oh, lovely. "Nevermind." I shook my head, sighed, and got off of him. How could I communicate with a deaf Human? How indeed? This was going to be a _lot_ more interesting than I had bargained for… because now we couldn't even cry insults at one another. And _that_, I knew, would become _very_ boring _very _quickly.

He sat up, and watched me retreat, shaking my head in disappointment and bemusement, even as I took my helm in hand and settled it back where it belonged. Instead of seeing me as plain and simple enemy, now he was looking at me like I was some kind of enigma… and that was not a pretty prospect between Spartan and Elite when I was the one being so looked upon.

_SIERRA 093 – FLINT _

He would growl at me… would sigh and shake his head. He would even grunt as if disinterested. But that damned odd Elite never spoke a word. It was almost as if he couldn't… but kept trying to. Like he didn't understand why I couldn't tell what he was saying. Like he thought it was I with the disability, as though I were deaf.

But I wasn't deaf. My hearing was just fine. I heard everything with acute clarity. The soft crack as he straightened his knuckles, the distant call of birds. The wind, in the grass, and the creak and groan of what could have been a tree on top of the cliff I was under. I could hear every protesting shriek of metal on metal when our armor collided, during the fighting we'd done.

But I couldn't hear what he was saying, and he just kept thinking I could. Until I had asked him why he wasn't… most any Elite, embattled or not, will say something, invariably, whether to complain about being struck or to gloat when victorious even when it was only one kill and there were dozens more. Elites liked to talk. They always had _something_ to say.

Not this one. He stood there, arms akimbo, studying me as though wondering what to do with me now he thought I was deaf. Could I play on that? Or should I point out to him that it wasn't me? Better – how could a fellow go through life assuming they could speak and really have no such ability? How does something like that go unnoticed? Surely a squadmate, maybe a member of his bloodline, a passing superior, might have mentioned it to him…??

He was doing it again. Yeah, he thought it was me. I sighed. Great – here lay a communication barrier _no one_ could cross, because the damned split lip was convinced he could do something he obviously couldn't. I wondered what to do then. At first I had wanted to kill the bastard, take his guns and his shit and trek off for friendly ground. Now I found myself considering breaking the bad news to him. Should I bother? He seemed to get along just fine without it… for now.

Ha! Just wait till he gained some rank, and then try ordering subordinates around like that. I laughed to myself, and shook my head, pulling up a knee and resting my good elbow on it. What a day. I get shot out of the sky, crash badly, am pulled from certain death by the enemy (who happens to be all alone, no inclination why), and then come to find out the dude is mute. Meh… can the day get any worse? At least he wasn't trying to kill me outright, and I had the opportunity to heal, maybe swipe his gun when I catch him sleeping or something, off him and be gone before dawn. He was almost as stubborn as I was. I had to admit – I wasn't sure whether to laugh at the ludicrousness or just throw up my hands and walk away before a Grunt wearing a g-string showed up. If I saw one of those, though, I was liable to eat my own gun.

There was no saving someone who was that far gone. I had seen a few Marines lose it like that, had even had to shoot one to keep him from offing all his squadmates, when he became convinced they were all Covenant in disguises. It was sad, really… and would be a sad ending indeed for a Spartan. Still, if I wasn't slowly going out of my mind, I wanted to be able to tell a reasonable tale when and if I managed to get back. "You have a name?" I asked, looking back at the Elite standing ten paces to my left. He still had his arms crossed.

He made some weird motion, but like I thought he would, he didn't say a word. No sound escaped his throat.

"Look, if you think I'm deaf, do you really think saying it will get it through to me?"

It worked. He rolled his eyes, threw up his hands and started walking away. Had he suddenly decided I wasn't worth his trouble, or was he going to go and pretend to speak with someone on the other side of a comn? I laughed heartily at the idea of the poor fellow trying to talk to an operator, but I drug my carcass off the ground and followed him, for lack of anywhere else to go. Staying here would be the end of me – I could better accomplish my new mission if I had somewhere to steal a ride from, and there didn't exactly look to be anything similar around here.

"Do you speak at all?" I called ahead. "Or do you always just think at people?"

He turned partway, to frown at me over his shoulder, but he didn't "talk" at me this time, he just turned back to his path and kept walking it. I found myself grinning like a fool behind my visor at the back of his head. What an affliction to be stuck with and find oneself all alone!

My mind made itself up right then – yeah. This _was_ hell. It just wasn't _my_ hell.

_FIELD MASTER __–__ G'WI 'CAERVASNEE_

He was certainly annoying! I had no intention of feeding his mirth by speaking to him when he and I both now knew he was incapable of hearing anything I said. He was laughing at me, intermittently, something I had not known Spartans to do. But this one was, and he was getting a real kick out of being deaf at my expense.

But at least I wasn't needing to drag him.

Most of the trip down the vale was uneventful, but there were varying forms of wildlife here and I expected to see one or two of them show themselves eventually. My Spartan companion didn't appear concerned with much beyond the back of my head. I suspected he was considering how to break it.

Under normal circumstances, my team and I would have had the fellow under all kinds of bondage and he'd be dragging behind the Unggoy – in this case, though, I had neither anything to tie him with and no real need to – he was still thinking like a free man, but it was conducive to my goals at the moment. If he thought I was going to lead him to a place he could steal transport from, fine. I wouldn't have to worry about him killing me prematurely nor him running off somewhere obscure either.

As odd as the situation seemed, for now, we were friends. I could still hear him chuckling to himself behind me, but at the passage of the last thought across my forebrain I found myself laughing with him. It was a moment of mirth for the two of us – each laughing at the ludicrousness of our unlikely situations.

We had covered an impressive amount of territory by dusk, but though personally I was exhausted, my Spartan had been dragging for the last several miles. I imagined he would have been willing to plug on for most of the night as well were it not for his… was it severe?… injury. He was an odd one, but now even I was ready to stop. I dropped to my knees in the hollow between hills, the scrub brush around me reflecting in hues of green grey as they fell to black and white for the fading light.

The Spartan sat hard next to me, and folded a leg beneath him, before resting the elbow of his bad arm on his upraised knee. I looked over at him, so he looked back, and I grunted, partially disinterested and partially too tired to care. I knew I would still fight him if he attacked me, but I wasn't going to initialize any conflict at this point.

Making the Spartan walk this much farther than he would have liked would need to do, I supposed, for making him sorry he creamed my team. In the morning, I would have rested and could think up more creative ways. In the mean time, I was little more interested in constructive thought than just getting some sleep.

Doing that in the presence of one of the Elite of the enemy was a little nerve wracking, though, as there was nothing between us save the night air. Bug song filled the space between us, our gazes locked on one another trying to decide who would pass out from fatigue first. Finally, I heaved a sigh, and turned away. If he killed me, so what. If I had to kill him, big deal. I knew each of us was equally as liable to get out of here alive as the other, but I was the one with the information in my head as to which direction the nearest Covenant base was. That, I figured, was if they hadn't decided to leave and let me rot here for the rest of my life. If that were the case, there would be no end to the mayhem I was going to cause if they were stupid enough to leave something flightworthy behind.

And if I was feeling cruel, maybe I'd take my new Spartan pet with me, and let him help make trouble.

I drew a breath, and let it go slowly, as I settled and relaxed my posture. I let my head sink a depth as my eyes closed, but though my spine curled slightly as I bent forward, I remained more or less seated upright sitting on my heels. Focusing inward, I stilled the rolling chaos of thoughts and memories in my mind, and listened to the silence that enveloped all.

_SIERRA 093 – FLINT _

If I hadn't been so hell bent on getting something good out of this Covie bastard, I would have let him leave me behind a good span back, and then just sufficed with tracking him. But I had seen the storm building on the horizon and I knew that if I let him get out of my sight, the rain would erase all sign of his passage, leaving me lost and stranded.

And wounded.

That detail had not escaped me – I had lost a lot of blood, and now it was leaking clear fluids, which couldn't be good, but it had made a run of sticky grit down the front, and doubtless the back, of my armor. Any and all stirred dust and dirt clung to it, the shiny fluid seeping each time I so much as pulled on the deltoid of that arm. It was hard not to – I had never had such a great gaping hole in me before, and not moving an arm that had not been immobilized while trying to move across uneven terrain had proven most difficult.

Even with the prominent ache it afforded every time I got too free with my motions. When he finally let me sit, I propped the arm up, hoping to stall some of the pain inside a numbness with elevation. So seated and still, though, I got a good look at my impromptu companion, and it was only then that I realized he hadn't really cared that I was following him. How this Elite's mind worked was really starting to get to me, though – first he saved me from my crashed bird, then doctored my wound, and promptly proceeded to try to out-walk me!

He was tired, too – very much so. But instead of getting some sleep, the weird fellow had gone and tried something rather bizarre – it looked to all respects as though he were meditating. I wasn't sure whether to laugh or step away, and let him have his… space. He was certainly strange enough for me to be unable to view him as much of the same breed that I had been born, bred and trained to kill. If this was a standard Covenant Elite, I wondered where the war had really started.

Somewhere on Harvest, with gods' knew who in charge. At this point such data was irrelevant. The Covenant wanted Humanity dead and gone, and there was no stopping that effort – even if stopping the onslaught was remotely possible. I had a chance to get inside the enemy mind, and I figured as long as he was an indispensable asset anyway, I might as well. Maybe I wouldn't like what I saw, maybe I wouldn't care.

Maybe he would tell me something important. I sagged to the earth, weary and willing to collapse for the night. It had been a long while since I had gotten any decent rest, what with the constant need for battle-readiness inside the battle cluster I had been with.

I was something of a figurehead for them, their icon and defender. And as the last of them died, I had failed them, crashing into enemy hands. Right now I was as good as dead, to the UNSC. But my signal would never be anything better than MIA. No Spartan was allowed to die. We were immortal, to all those concerned. I could only wish.

_**FIELD MASTER – G'WI 'CAERVASNEE**_

In the event that a storm came, I knew the base – if it was raining that far away, too – would be in flight lockdown. No bird smaller than the cruiser would be allowed to fly, excepting only combat situations. Now, I was no pilot, but even I understood why. Branching lightning seared the skies above us, but we both knew it wasn't night. Not anymore. Despite still being a little tired, I had set out anyway – it wasn't a race, so much, and we weren't doing any better than a mere walk.

Not strolling – I had somewhere to be, so I wasn't taking my time. But I was in no real hurry, either. I had just crested a short cliff side, oh all of fifty feet tall or so, and looked back when I realized my companion must think me either insane for wandering this far from my base or I was some kind of Spec Ops. We hadn't really fought much to prove who was superior at it, but my armor ought to have pointed out clearly what I was. He pulled himself over the verge and stood straight, looking back at me, evidently wondering why I was just standing there, staring at him.

Having no words for the fellow, I just shook my head and turned away. We were long past trying to kill one another – I had somehow lost interest in torturing him some, and he'd seemed to come to terms with the idea that he needed me for at least as far as the base, so we weren't at odds quite so much anymore, though I wondered what his plan was once we reached Covenant Central, on this planet.

He had to know he couldn't win, not against that many, even if they all each only shot him with one round. He wouldn't get halfway through before he'd been killed. I walked along the highest ridgeline nearby, pondering what the future held. Mine was bleak, before the Spartan fell on my team. His was bleak, afterwards. Did it matter, though? Did I care? If I had fallen into Human hands, then I didn't doubt for a second that I would have suffered no better a fate. Capture between forces in the war we were having with one another was simply not pretty, no two ways about it. I didn't doubt he knew that – we hadn't ever captured a Spartan before, but there was good reason for that. How I had found the only one to suffer such a fate was a little beyond me – and I found myself wondering if this weren't some kind of prank.

Hadn't I had enough of this bullshit already? If I was stripped of recognition and pushed into the back again even with having produced a Human Elite, I was going to start killing Honor Guards and Prophets. If this was a cruel prank, I was not in the mood to be laughing when the last curtain fell. I had been rejected to the bottom of the ranks for too long to humor such wanton disparagement.

I traced my eyes over the horizon, well aware it was too high to see the cruiser that would otherwise be visible from here, but since the Spartan didn't know that and couldn't see it any better than I could from here, our next showdown would be a while in coming. Given time, I supposed if we didn't arrive anywhere of significance, I would be facing a rather angry Spartan in that he'd think I had been leading him in circles.

There was no agreement that I knew where we were going, though. In truth I only hoped the cruiser was still there – be just my luck, too, that it would have left. It had been five days since the last Human bird was shot down, so there was nothing to really stick around for. The planet wasn't going to get glassed, because there was no significant Human population here. Maybe all of a dozen to a hundred, but that wasn't even enough to propagate the species.

Together my Spartan catch and I made our way across the crest of a hill, following the ridgeline as it snaked along in the general direction of where I was pretty sure the base was. If it wasn't there anymore I was going to be in deep shit – not that the Spartan would be a problem, but that that base was where all the survival supplies were. I didn't have that kind of skill to persist despite them. I hadn't packed anything to last more than a week – worse still, my Spartan friend wasn't going to last even that long. Maybe he'd starve slower due to his augmentations, but one would suppose he would have an even faster metabolism because of them, not a slower one.

You can't feed a faster, stronger, bigger beast on the same ration that you feed the small one. It just doesn't work that way. He was fine for now, but I still was going to run out of supplies here real soon. I didn't know how many days until we reached the blasted base, but I hoped we were close. With the onset of the rainy season, I needed to close that gap fast. No telling what horrors this planet held in store for the unwary and non-natives.

The alone, unwary, and non-native. I heaved a sigh, wishing I was there already but possessed of no method by which to make it. I didn't think the Spartan had much in the way of methods, either, otherwise he would have displayed them already – off me, and away he goes, bereft of need for my guidance across this hilly, rocky terrain that I really didn't know that well.

After all, I hadn't exactly walked out there to that valley-fissure. I'd been flown there in a dropship. My progress drew up short when I realized I had come upon the concave edge of a sharp drop that didn't appear to have a bottom – and it was far, far too wide for me to jump across it. I could hear the rushing water, but it had been spraying in such a manner to make mist so there was no telling just how far down it was, especially since it appeared to be echoing.

The Spartan stepped up beside me, to look down at what he didn't know was a sharp drop until he was on top of it – and before I could protest with even the feeblest of shouts, down we went, right straight into the damn thing.

Stinking Spartan weighed too damn much.

_SIERRA 093 – FLINT _

Falling was a lot like zero g. But it was a sharp drop and a short stop, and we were down. I sank like a rock, my breached suit taking on water like a dehydrated, ravenously thirsting beast. Worse, I couldn't plug the damn hole. Hitting the bottom of the bed several meters from the impact site, I was pushed along through the silt for another four or five meters before stopping – I had no idea where the Elite had gone, but at the moment it hardly mattered. Clawing my way out of the silt was proving really difficult, as the more I pressed from it the deeper I sank into it. I knew there was no way I was going to be able to pull my Mjolnir from the river bottom without some kind of help – a tie-off from the bank or a VTOL with heavy lift gear on it, maybe another Spartan whose suit wasn't full of water.

I was glad my helmet hugged my jawline, else I would have been breathing it by now, and that was the last thing I needed to deal with. Damn but this river bottom was soft as hell! I could find neither hand nor foothold, and my attempts were only throwing up clouds of obscuring silt and burying me deeper in it. I was frustrated already, unable to find anything more solid than the soft, pliable mush I was sinking into or the overly forgiving water I was quickly losing sight of.

At last! Rock bottom was achieved. From there, though, I found I was quite stuck. Not only was I up to my neck in silt, it was in a fast flowing river and I had been reburied within a matter of seconds. I couldn't begin to hope to get out without something else hard enough to push against and strong enough to hold me.

And my suit. The Mjolnir Mark V I was wearing weighed a lot – a lot, a lot. Silt wouldn't have held an unarmored Human child, and here I was, a rather large man added to the fact that I was heavier than most rocks my size due to the armor I wore.

There was simply no solution I could find… and I was still taking on water – I could tell as much because of all the bubbles I was emitting. I could not have possibly trapped that much air in my armpits, there was no question. I was leaking, and filling up, making me even less likely to reach dry shore. I sighed, unwilling to resign myself to this kind of fate… Using as much of my physical power as I could muster under the circumstances, I began to dig and push through the silt, hoping the direction I was going was shoreward. If it wasn't, I would run out of air to lose and then suffocate. So far the seal on my neck was keeping my head out of danger of getting wet, though, which was good… for now.

Just that the suit was breached was irritating and compounding the problem. But I was determined, and I felt like I was making good headway, as I counted my steps. I realized that the river was in the bottom of a carved canyon in a mud hill, but that wasn't going to stop me from finding a way out of the damn water. I wondered what temperature it was, keeping my mind from getting idle as my body churned and plowed. Gods, but this silt layer was fucking deep.

I found something that felt to my foot like a stone, so I stepped on it – and it caved. Gritting my teeth, I pressed on. Maybe I wasn't quite to the shore just yet… no real telling where I was in the river or if I was heading up or downstream instead of left or right, but no river carved by water was ever straight, so if I had that kind of time, maybe I would come upon a curve and walk right out and up onto the bank.

I vowed that as soon as I found it, I was going to give that damned Elite a good talking to about situational awareness. That was if he hadn't drowned, I supposed.

_FIELD MASTER - G'WI 'CAERVASNEE_

My armor was weighing me down some, but I was managing to maintain a place on the surface, despite. The river was moving really fast, though, and the first fallen something or other I was slammed against I was unable to catch and hold to. The second, though, I caught, then was wrapped around it by the force of the tide. Impact hurt, but the force of the press after impact was almost as bad. It felt like a ton and a half of pressure was aimed at the small of my back, and I wondered at the obstruction I was against. How come it wasn't moving, too?

I spent what felt like an eternity clawing my way out of that water, but once I was out and on the bank, I got a good look at the nature of the beast. It was rushing like it was scared shitless of something back behind it, and there was somewhere safe up ahead. And there was a lot of it. But something uncharacteristic of flood waters, though, was it was painfully clear… I could see the bottom… and then it vanished, as silt began to fill the clarity with murk.

"Spartan." I said, to myself, realizing it must have been him stirring it up when he hit the bottom of the river in that armor of his. Humans didn't tend to sink any more than Sangheili did, but for the most part, this one in particular was wearing some pretty heavy gear. He likely had sunk at an angle, though, for the push of the tide.

But if I could backtrack in any kind of time, I could probably find him, and drag his heavy carcass out. Moving into a trot, I covered a considerable amount of distance back along the way I had come, but I never saw any end to the amount of silt that Spartan was throwing up. I began to wonder if he wasn't rolling along on the bottom, or something. Coming upon a hill which the river had cut the middle right out of, I hesitated, and looked into the carved slot, wondering if going up and down again the other side would cause me to go right around him and miss him entirely.

This posed an interesting problem. Shaking my head, I looked back at the silt, which here was coloring the water. It looked now more like a moving ribbon of dirt than flowing water, there was so much of it all.

Then, as if the generator passed me by, it stopped. There was still silt – and a lot of it – down past me, but right where I was had cleared again. And looking down through the water I could just make out a wavering form colored green in the middle of that cloud of dirt. I laughed. Taking a rather watery stroll, wasn't he?

Taking my rappelling line, I tied it off to a thick rock that looked like it was well rooted, and jumped in, aiming for the bottom. Now I wasn't flailing this way and that, I was able to control my motions more, especially since I better understood the nature and power of the water I was in. Swimming had always come naturally to me – I was faster in the water than I was on land, and no one I had met had been able to out do me. Coming within the Spartan's path, I squinted against the massive amounts of dirt I had to look through, waiting poised to strike as my target came to me.

We had met under better circumstances – but this time, I was in better control of the situation, and the water wasn't fixing to blow up. I caught him by his shoulders, and began to recoil along the rappelling line I had strung out, taking him up to shore. At first he fought me, which made it hard to hang onto him, but after he'd apparently realized who and what I was, he let me drag him out of the water. Presumptuous, suspicious fellow.

Once his visor made it above the water line, he took over, and pulled his own self up and out. I guessed he'd been blind in all that silt, unable to tell up from down or left from right, but now he could tell where he was again, he resumed normal function. Personally, I felt bruised. I took my rappelling line from the rock, and wound it up again, restoring it to its place on my belt with the rest of my equipment.

The Spartan just stood there, watching as the water drained from his suit through the hole his ship had put in him. I looked at that, and shuddered. It looked too much like a clear version of the gush of blood that had come out, but this time it wasn't just one gush – it was _pouring_, and it didn't look inclined to stop.

"Are you done with unnecessary adventures and detours?" I asked. He didn't reply. "Come on, we still have ground to cover." I turned, and – limping slightly now – walked away, aiming for the ridge on the horizon that masked where the cruiser was hanging in the sky. It was much closer now, but we'd taken an easy half mile sideways detour, so there was no telling if we would encounter half the things I had seen from the high knoll back the way we had come. It could be better, could be worse. Either way, I was not going to stand here all day and become predator food when I died of starvation… or drowned in the Spartan's next underwater stroll.

I checked once to see and he was following me again, probably sloshing along rather heavily as much of the water that had gotten into his suit had sunk past the point in his armor where there was an exit to escape through. He was working at what I supposed was probably a latch on one glove, maybe to take it off long enough to drain that sleeve, and it was highly likely he was going to later do his boots the same way whenever I decided to stop again. Sure enough, a spray of almost pressurized water began to come from the area before he'd gotten it completely loose, and then it gushed out and spent a moment dripping before he resealed the thing.

We closed the last mile and a half to the mountain wall I was heading to that day, but the moment I caught sight of the aft of the cruiser I was overjoyed to see hadn't left without me after all, I stopped moving, and made as if I thought I was suddenly very lost. Turning to look back at the Spartan, I wondered how I was going to handle this part of the journey – he'd made himself rather clear when he'd first woke up after we'd met.

Either he was going to die, or I was, but he wouldn't have it any other way. I frowned meaningfully at him, but he wasn't looking at me. He was looking past me. When he made that slight turn of his head to look at me, though, I could almost hear his expression; I'd stopped too late, and he'd seen the cruiser. He didn't need me anymore, and here our joint efforts would cease. I curled my hand around the grip of my t-25DER, wondering how things would really play out. It didn't take a genius to know that he wasn't going to just allow me to walk him in there and hand him over – Spartans fought to the death, and this one had been more forgiving than any of his brothers had been already – his chivalry and polite demeanor was due to end any moment now.

He didn't move, but I didn't expect him to either. If I turned my back now, he would break it, but I couldn't just stand here all the rest of the day. In the distance, back the way we'd come, thunder crackled across the sky, the areas we'd traveled under heavy rains. The mountains we were now in would hold back the clouds and the rain for a long, long time. But I wasn't concerned for the rain. I was more likely to be killed by this Spartan than hit by lightning, and we both knew it.

He appeared to take a breath, thinking the situation over; I had no idea where he was going to wind up, though, and the last thing I was going to humor was anything that would leave me at the bottom while he killed millions more and escaped laughing at me. I could be labeled a heretic and executed for allowing that. I tasted my mandibles, aware we both had old injuries that had not been allowed to heal, and aware he was probably the better of us at combat – even mere hand combat, since he didn't have any of his weapons.

"Don't try it." I said, bringing the rifle up at him. He looked at it, then at my face, then back at the rifle. I got the impression he thought of the gesture as my offering to give it to him, even though we both knew I was doing no such thing. Spartans tended to look upon enemy entrenchments as weapons' depos. I had never felt more a fool for taking him along this far when I had had him at my mercy back at the crash site.

He seemed to smile an evil smile at me, like he had just had the same thought. I backed up a step. Mistake; his reaction was better than lightning. It was superlumenal. We connected right as I pulled the firing stud on my t-25DER, and it fired three wild shots into the air before being slammed from my hand as his grip found that wrist and we dropped together, that arm being struck against the ground in an effort to do just that – unseat the gun. We proceeded to pound on one another, shielding mechanisms catching most of the first part of our tussle, me snarling rather loudly at him.

He had no idea how much I did not want to die, did he? I freed my gunhand and balled it into a fist, to use it to pummel his visor, which drummed his head backwards. I got him off of me, and coiled a leg to kick him a distance. Clawing my sword from my belt, he clawed it from my hand, and we fought over it until I got it to activate, at which point I wrenched his wrist, and raked it across his energy shielding; that was the last of it, though, and they caved, leaving a scoring mark across his chest armor and the scent of hot metal vapor in the air. He backed off a step or two, and looked down at it briefly, before looking back at me, and raising his fists again.

I hunched, sword forward, and began to circle. My t-25DER was nowhere I could see it, but the reason I was circling him was not to make him turn, but because I was in no mood to humor him while I looked for it by some other method. After coming about halfway around, he suddenly dropped into a roll, and came up from a knee with it in hand – how I had missed it was beyond me, but he unloaded it until it overheated at me, nearly all of his shots hitting not because he was good at rushed aims, but because I had seen him pick it up and seen that action coming – and I was charging in, closing the gap.

I was not by any means going to let him have me like that, but my own weapon was rather short range. We connected badly yet again, and I tore at his armored hide with the blade, as he wrestled to get me away from him. Finally, he found a new method I hadn't ever seen before – he deliberately fell over backwards, but since I was heading at him, he stuck his feet up and I went right over his head onto mine, following my momentum on the leveraging pivots of his legs. I crashed hard, and rolled to one side, trying to shake off the agony of landing wrong. I was a little surprised I hadn't broken my head or my neck with that move, but since I hadn't, I didn't have time to dwell.

So trembling for a pain I was trying to ignore, I drove back to my hooves, and came about, determined not to let him do that to me again. He had rolled to one side, and come upright already by that point, as if he'd never been down. Slapping my t-25DER once or twice as the venting mechanism closed again, he re-aimed it at me, but this time I was much closer, and I met the first and only shot he managed to get off, before we connected yet again. My first swing missed completely when he pulled over backwards into an odd looking flip, but he hit with his hands, coiled, and came back, slamming both feet into my chest directly and knocking me back as he jumped back to his feet. Damn, I could learn a ton from this guy. I hit my back and pulled my legs over my head, so I landed on my knees facing him, though a bit far from him for comfort, considering he was the one with the gun. From my knees, though, I easily thrust forward, sword first, and the gap between us closed yet again. I hit shielding again, but it caved early, as it had not fully recharged yet. Past that, I hit his armor, and then we both hit dirt, my free hand wrapped around the wrist of the hand that held my t-25DER, my sword held against his neck.

Neither of us moved, but I was feeling really quite dizzy by this point, after having landed on my head and then permitted to let the injury assert itself once the rush of battle was past. I fought to keep my head, even as the image of the Spartan before me swam and ran like wet paint. I worried that I would pass out, and then he'd just push me away and be on his merry way, but things didn't work out quite that way.

Right as I thought I was done, I heard running steps. I looked up, in time to see more of my own on approach… I barely recognized them as such, though, more blobs of running color than starkly outlined beings. The Spartan beneath me saw them too – but when he pushed, I had no coherency to push back, and he pushed me off before I was even completely gone. The last thing I saw was the outbreak of plasma fire exchanging between the Spartan and my reinforcements, before it all pooled and stirred into a bleak grey before turning black and swallowing me whole.

I had never seen such depth to a color before.

_SIERRA 093 - FLINT_

He wasn't that good at fighting, but he was hell as for adaptation and absorption learning. With each second he learned something new from me, coiling, colliding, moving past and around. I just couldn't move the same way twice, and my mistake at revision of an old motion got me pinned to the ground under threat of decapitation with the Elite on top of me. He learned fast – but even as I stared up at him, wondering at his rather placid expression, I began to realize his adaptation mode of fighting hadn't served him as well as it had seemed to – he was suffering, likely from the move where I had made him land on his head.

Not one to judge such things, but pretty certain nonetheless, I could have sworn his eyes had un-focused on me, and he kept staring at me as if trying to see me. Like I had disappeared in a swirl of colors. When he looked up to try to see the Covenant forces coming to investigate the shots fired between us, I knew precisely what was wrong. He didn't see them, either – and was fighting a losing battle to retain consciousness. This Elite was gone, he just didn't know it yet.

Testing, I pushed up on his swordarm, and none too soon. He verily drooped, as he rolled off of me, settling in the dust as still as if dead. Had I reacted later, he might have dropped that sword on me and cut my head right off without even meaning to. Spilled in the dust, though, I almost felt bad for him; having had better than a week to get to know him, it was almost as if being struck with the realization that after all that time playing nice to one another while we amended our collective situations had gone completely without recognition when our paths sought to separate. He only wanted to get back to where he belonged – with his Covenant. The same could be said for me. I wanted to go back to the UNSC, and here, arrived at the base that had likely deployed my Elite companion, was a ticket for each of us. They would collect him and keep him with them, while I could possibly kill a pilot or two, steal a bird, and fly home.

He hadn't tried to kill me even once.

His friends weren't so understanding, though, and rushed at the scene with murder in their eyes. They saw me shove the Elite off me, and must have assumed I had killed him. I might have, there was no way to know without having several quiet moments to check. But these boys weren't going to let me. More Elites than I had ever seen in one place at once came to greet me, and my only option was to take the Plasma Rifle my companion had carried and shoot back while dodging for cover.

I counted eleven Elites, better than twenty five Grunts, and a half dozen Jackals, all of them swarming my position with plasma and bolt fire. Overcharges zoomed past my helmet, sizzling, but I still hadn't recharged from the times my own escort had hit me, and if one of those things hit me, it would burn right through my armor.

I could still feel the water from the bottom of my ribs down sloshing in my suit, but I took up most of the interior, so there might have been a gallon in there, at best – I spared a moment to shoot down a pair of Grunts, and suffered six hits from a well-aimed Carbine, which popped the last of my barely recharged shields and punctured a greave. Oddly, I never felt it hit skin or bone after the suit breached again, but a small stream of water poured across my combat shoe. Reaching my position at last, I was now surrounded, and I threw a Grunt into an Elite, then scooped up another to mow down those annoying Jackals. Something slammed hard into my back, and staggered me forwards, right into another Elite, who snarled something at me that wasn't English, punched me so I spun on a foot, and hit dirt. I sent a foot into his knee, knocking him back and down, before jumping back up in time to get covered in a dog pile of Grunts, all of them screeching and clawing at my armor.

They proved too heavy at once to hold, and it drug me to my knees, even as I tried to swat them off, the Plasma Rifle I had once had in hand now long lost. Somehow I managed to scrape most of them off my upper body, and then I kicked the rest free before something I never saw coming and still can't identify slammed into the side of my helmet, rattling me badly enough inside my armor to cause me to black out instantly.

I had never felt less concerned for my own self than right then, though, for some reason wondering what would become of the Elite that had pulled me from certain death so many miles ago.

If they left us both for dead, I could probably amend some of the situation. But if they only left him for dead while carting me off to see a Prophet, I knew I was going to be really peeved. It would prove that ground pounders on both sides of this gods-rot war were no more than being used, little puppets made to suffer and die while the upper echelons watched from afar.

Like chess.

_FIELD MASTER – G'WI 'CAERVASNEE_

I remember hearing voices, but they didn't register and I gave them no thought for the first several moments before it occurred to me to wonder about them. Naturally, assuming they were ally, my first wonder was to wonder where I was.

I couldn't believe the amount of effort it took just to get my eyes to open, though – by the Prophets that took monumental effort! And I thought _moving_ was hard. This was insane. Groggily, I blinked a few times as the blur cleared from my eyes, and I sought to look around. Oh. I knew what this was. I'd been here enough times to know, I supposed, at a glance. It wasn't that I spent all my time in a medical bay, but I hadn't been without injury even if my battle experience was nil. Sometimes things just go awry without any enemy to help them along, and that was life.

A Healer approached, and took the readings from the monitoring equipment over my head, then turned away before looking at them, making a startled noise, and turning back, this time to actually look at me. I grinned at her, weakly. Not the most observant type, she wasn't, but I was tickled. She ignored me, after that, leaving with the readings to gods knew where, and leaving me to explore my new surroundings. All of my extraneous body parts checked in well enough, and I found myself pleasingly whole; which shouldn't have really surprised me much, but it was still nice to know.

My head felt oddly numb, like it ought to hurt but instead it wasn't… an odd sensation, to be sure, and it left me dizzy as hell. I did manage to sit myself up, though, pressing against the medical flat I had been lain on. My armor was gone, but medical staff tend to remove that sort of thing for ease of work, and again I was not surprised. Seated now, I looked around at my surroundings, and found the area surprisingly empty – save exactly one other Sangheili warrior, much like myself. He was nearby, relatively, within speaking distance I supposed, but though unlike me his injury was a tad more obvious, he wasn't out cold nor acting dizzy like I felt.

I supposed it might be because his wasn't a head injury. Motion attracts the eye, as all well know, and my sitting up caught his attention, so when I looked at him, he was already looking back at me, though in silence.

"Hello." I called.

"They said you might not remember who you were." He answered.

Well! That was certainly not the friendliest thing to start a conversation with. "Why?" I asked.

"Due to the nature of your injury." He elaborated, though it sounded more like he was telling me for his own benefit. Like he didn't expect me to understand. "They said it was severe. You spent more than three hours just in surgery."

I balked. Surgery! Had I hit my head that badly? "What for?" I asked.

He shrugged, and shook his head, more talking to himself. I wondered if he was really answering me or just telling a story how he'd heard it. "Something about sub-cranial swelling as well as a number of skeletal fractures… you got hit pretty hard, I'd warrant." He looked over at me, then, as if expecting some kind of reaction.

I ran a hand over the back of my head, wondering if there would be a giant bandage there. I didn't find one, but I did find a pattern of stitches back there. Yeah, I sighed, my head had been opened. I frowned. "What happened?"

He didn't answer.

"I remember landing on my head, but I don't remember it being that bad." I added, looking at him. "I got back up and kept fighting."

"You know, it's not easy to fight a Spartan and win – and three squadrons worth of witnesses speak as testament to that. You've proven yourself quite the warrior. You were in sight long before anyone was close enough to help you. They all saw how well you held your own all by yourself against that Human Spartan."

I focused on him. "What happened to him?"

"What?" He asked, as though he didn't understand.

"He was supposed to be my captive, until he managed to steal my t-25DER from me and make a nuisance of himself. I had hoped to deliver him alive…" I found my tone was rather tart, even though I didn't know if this fellow had even been there.

"He's alive, by the way… we decided to take him that way when it proved an option." He offered, looking at me like he was wondering why I was acting like I was. "He took a great deal of suppression to neutralize his fighting ability. He's currently in isolation in the brig sector."

I looked at him oddly, then. "We?"

"I was there." He continued, half-smiling as if in awe of me. "I saw you fighting him, I saw you fall. It's a wonder you're alive, considering what he did to you. Forerunners know I could not have held half as well against him for half as long. You were truly a sight to see."

I could only grunt in partially irritated, partially disinterested nonchalance. Sight to see! Ha! I hadn't had any combat experience at all ever before, and now suddenly I'm the center of attention for all achievement and accolade. I had to scoff at the idea. No, I was not about to be led to believe I was some great warrior among great warriors, not when all before I wasn't even worthy of being allowed to fight at all. I was not about to let them lead me on and pump my ego (what there was left of it) only to later let me down and then step on me on their way past as they turned their backs and walked away.

He did shut up, though, and give me my peace, at least for a time. I knew fully that I was still bruised from the escapade in the river, as well as the short beating the Spartan and I had exchanged. I held my face in my hands for a time, feeling some of them and wondering why I wasn't feeling others of them. Despite this, I felt my whole body hurt, and I was glad to be back in Covenant controlled territory, where fighting was not liable to happen.

I heard the doors open, and several sets of hooves walk through, before it closed and the new arrivals all gathered around me. I could feel my skin crawling as they all looked at me, so I lifted my head to look back at them, scanning their faces one at a time and counting them as well as noting rank and position.

Number four, the final one on the right, was wearing golden armor. I felt myself subconsciously shrink away from him, wondering if I was going to be killed for allowing the Spartan to beat on that other dispatch of warriors. His expression wasn't terribly unkind, though, and it made me wonder why he was here – an Imperial Admiral, come to see little, insignificant, unimportant me. The Ship Master was there, too – and he appeared more contemplating the sight of me than anything else.

Finally, the Admiral spoke. "They tell me your name is G'wi Caervasnee."

Meekly, I nodded.

"You are born of a low House, warrior. I am amazed. None previous of your bloodline have displayed such prowess in battle. What have you to say for yourself?"

I spent several minutes just staring at him; he had just insulted me and then honored me all in the same breath. Coming from an Imperial Admiral, likely bred off a bloodline riddled with the rank, this was really something. Honestly, I found myself a little speechless…

"Nothing at all?" He asked, cocking his head.

"N… no, sir… I… am unsure how to respond at all." I admitted.

"Your name has been submitted for review by the Council. Congratulations, Caervasnee. You've been offered a position many thousands covet and never attain; the rank of Zealot among the members of the Honor Guard attending the High Council."

I don't know if I fainted or not, but the rest of the day escaped my memory. I have no idea what I said or if I even said anything at all… in truth I'm a little amazed I recall the entirety of what _he_ said, since the very first sentence – that I was under review by the Council – blew my poor battered mind right out of the water.

Most of the next week went more the same way – I knew I was lucid, knew I was coherent, knew what I was doing while I was doing it at the time, but the memory didn't really stick to me, creating something of a blur. My whole life, I suppose, was flashing before my eyes. And it was dull, indeed. I spent most of the time between the conversation in the medical bay and arrival of our cruiser at somewhere else – notably High Charity – trying to wrap my mind around the basic concept. I never saw the Spartan the whole time, but I had the impression I wasn't supposed to.

Yet. The whole crew was abuzz, whispering and muttering to themselves, but everyone was respectfully quiet around me – worse still, I had a sinking, foreboding feeling growing in my gut because everyone's persistent reluctance to speak to me had grown to a total refusal. I just knew it was because they were going to kill me in my sleep and then replace me with some more worthy, honorable warrior who they thought would make a halfway decent Zealot. Gods knew who ever they chose would be better than me, but they had no idea how much I did not want to die.

I didn't sleep, couldn't sleep, barely ate. I felt more alien and segregated among my own than I ever had, forced to watch them with a cautious, wary eye and my own back because there was no one I could trust to watch it for me. I tried to maintain a normal duty attendance, but in the end I really spent more time hiding from them all sealed behind the door to my quarters than doing anything else, watching it with a paranoid delusion, my t-25DER in my hand. I would spend all night like this, just knowing they would come through it any moment and take me away to erase me.

I was born of a low House, and the Imperial Admiral had made that observation first. Would they want us to stay low? Would they dare allow us ascension among the upper cultural echelons, to rub elbows with the most honored Houses?

Alone I had accomplished what it took generations and legions of other Houses' members to accomplish, and for it I guess I was afraid I would be called out and condemned for something along the lines of faking something to make myself and my bloodline look worthy. We had certainly been at the low end for hundreds of generations. I waited, watched, and wondered, until at last we arrived. I was sleep deprived, a little gaunt for lack of sustenance intake, and jittery as hell. I suppose I didn't look like much, either, especially when the Imperial Admiral came to get me from the hall route I was assigned on security duty to himself. The expression on his face when he first saw me around the far corner made me wonder if I had grown a second head – even though I was sure I would have noticed had I.

He approached, his attendants at his elbows, both of them looking at me with that same expression he wore himself. They all thought I looked like hell. I thought they all looked like my executioners. The expression on the Admiral's face turned to inquisitive, then contemplative, as he stopped his approach and watched as I backed slowly away from them, watching them with what must have been a rather wild look in my eye. I was certainly scared of them.

I arrived at a comfortable distance, and hesitated, though I was sure that my quivering muscles were very ready to propel me along at a decent speed should I choose to bolt. The Admiral shook his head, and waved at both his attendants, then at me, without a word. I took exactly one running step in the opposite direction when I saw them coming for me, before they were suddenly somehow upon me, and holding me between them. All my fears came to play in that moment, as I became convinced my death had at last come to call, and I would be dead in a matter of mere seconds. Despite this, and despite how very much I wanted to live, instead of overwhelming panic, all I felt was a settling sense of calm.

I looked the Admiral in the eye, at peace with my situation. I had never before felt so calm in my life than right then, when I felt I was going to die without options to the contrary. He stepped forward, then, confident I wasn't going to get away while he tried to speak. I knew I was going nowhere. His aides had been too well toned and trained to be fought off, especially in my condition. I knew I was doing rather poorly in the health department, knew I was not as strong as I could have been.

Knew… and didn't care. He never said a word to me, and I none to him. But he turned, and we followed him back the way he came, my escorts and I. Passing crew looked after us, their silent stares not unlike the ones they gave to heretics and rebels. I ignored them – if this was going to be the end of me, there was no shame in doing it with dignity. Instead, though, we made our way through the ship to the medical bay again – puzzling me for a moment. I sat still as the Healers looked me over, unable to find any reason why I looked the way I did.

The Admiral left me there, locked there in the medical for the following three days. On the fourth he returned, and while I looked better more for my inability to refuse the medics, I felt no different. My peace had slowly begun to fade, as I came to realize it wasn't over – not yet. But I retained my calm, retained my composure, and even as they dressed me in armor that was both shaped and colored foreign to me, I stood resolute that I would not be made to snivel or beg in the end. Honored or not, I was still a proud warrior, and I was going to go with my head high.

The Imperial Admiral escorted me from the ship, after I was suitably clad to his tastes, and out onto the vast decks of High Charity. There, we chose our path through intermittent sections of occupied and abandoned parts of the city – until we finally arrived at a Proclamation Chamber. I had seen one or two in the past, but this was the biggest one I had ever seen – the far corners were vast indeed, and it was beyond packed with people. When I stepped out onto the gravity lift that would take us down, to the area where the main stage was located, the whole crowded room fell hushed, as if in reverence like when a Prophet entered a room.

As our booted hooves touched the deck at last, the Admiral and I took a knee before not one but three of the Holy Appointed. On a normal day I would have been shocked to see that many Prophets in one place at one time. Today I was still encased in an iron shell of calm and cool. I doubted that if riot broke out I would lose it, either. No one moved, no one breathed. At the center Prophet's beckon, we in attendance to their presence stood straight again, and faced them. I wasn't sure, but I was pretty convinced there were five of us – the Imperial Admiral and I, and three more others behind us, in staggered formation.

I listened with half an ear as the Prophets proclaimed their testimonies of gods and Great Journeys, of salvation and damnation. My attention centered when their words changed, and the one in the center turned in his hovering throne to look directly at me. His voice boomed across the vast chamber with electronic aid as he raised his arms, then lowered them, and pointed one long finger at me.

I didn't move, but between the three others in the back, I was soon subject to a rather public redressing – and when they stepped back, my more or less colorless armor had been replaced with gold. It was highly decorated, sporting an excess of décor and design, as well as a small number of unnecessary protrusions from various places – the tops of my shoulders, for one. Lastly, the center Prophet floated closer to me, taking in hand something that I had thought at first was just part of his own overly decorative outfit, and holding it up first for all to see – as if they had vision that good – and then extending it towards me.

I only recognized it at that point – it was a helmet. With a high crest and low cheeks, a sculpted brow and broad, forked nose plate, this was the official design of the ceremonial garb worn by the Honor Guard. The ranks were usually composed of the descendants of the first Honor Guards, as sons and grand sons were trained and groomed to take on their father's places as the most honored, most dangerous Sangheili warriors in the Covenant. I was hardly that, but I accepted the helm anyway. I would only make them all mad by refusing, especially since it would imply I thought badly of the Prophet's own decisions. Turning it over, I bowed my head to settle it where it belonged, and found it not as heavy or unwieldy as I thought it must be, so when I looked up again it was past the lip of the helm of an Honor Guard Zealot.

That's what I was.

_SIERRA 093 - FLINT_

I had no idea what they thought they were up to, but the more they got in my way the more of them got hurt. I was, admittedly, a little pissed off, and greatly desiring a weapon. Covenant creatures swarmed along outside, where I could see them, but for as much as my odd energy bondings hindered my movements, they did not totally deny them. And the great hairy beasts that looked a lot like a cross between a dog, a pig, and an ape just kept shoving me back every time I got close enough to really hit one.

Their tongue was harsh and guttural, unlike the Elite's more smooth and sable language. I had heard them speaking in it before, had wondered at it's almost song-like nature, their deep bass voices resonating like guitars and drums. These beasts here sounded more a lot like grunts and growls, like some rabid animal that can't complete a single coherent thought. But they were dragging me, kicking and fighting, along a narrow corridor out towards somewhere where I could swear there must be millions of Covenant creatures, of all races, howling and screaming in either agony or cheer.

The closer we got to that last door, the louder it got. When it opened, all the brutish creatures dragging me made the same disgusted expression – and I grimaced, unable to take such a blast of sound very well. Once the shock of introduction was past, though, and I was recovered, it didn't seem so loud, but merely constant as well as distant. We stepped across an unsupported platform with a gravity lift at the far edge in it, and into the glowing hole in the floor – instead of falling an impossible distance to all of our deaths, we descended slowly in a controlled manner so we all retained our upright postures.

I did, however, manage to twist from one's grasp long enough to land a double-foot kick in another, and to my satisfaction, it knocked the beast completely from the gravity field, and he fell flailing and screaming off to his death while the rest of them and me slowed to a stop on another unsupported platform that wasn't wide enough to have caught that other creature – the brute holding my elbows thrust me forward so I tumbled to a knee and then slid a yard on my side, almost but not quite freeing me. I jumped back to my feet and slammed my bound fists into the one I had been thrown at, knocking him back a step. I followed this up with an uppercut and then a left hook, then kicked his knee so it broke, and without giving him time to compensate or react, I had kicked him right off the edge.

Directly, I was seized again from behind, and a fist slammed into the side of my helmet, stunning me and making me dizzy long enough for them to separate my hands and hang them in the air in what appeared to me to be some kind of energy holding field. No matter how I pulled, they refused to come free, so I was stuck facing the biggest crowd of Covenant soldiers I had ever seen, with my hands up at my sides at eye level.

I was rather close to the far edge of the platform, though, which made for the fate of the next hirsute brute that got in front of me close enough for me to kick. He wouldn't have been hurt much except that I had put all my power into that impact, and he dropped and rolled right off the edge, clawing at the decking so he left scratch marks in the metal.

That one howled louder when he found freefall, than the last one I had done that to. I twisted and pulled, straining to be free of whatever was holding my wrists in that damned energy field. I stressed their hold with all my might, determined to be freed, digging the heels of my Mjolnir Mark V armor deep into the metal I stood on, pressing with all I had backwards from the direction I was attached at.

My gaze was drawn from my tightly balled fists when a pair of golden figures and an airborne module appeared in my peripheral. Twisting against my bondings still, I watched as a pair of decorated Elites circled me, standing just out of range. I wasn't certain, but I had the distinct feeling there was a Prophet behind me. I'd never seen one before, and at current I still had not, but the feeling was quite strong.

I paused my pulling to study the more extravagantly dressed of the two golden Elites, sure I had seen that one before somewhere. I don't know where I got that idea, don't know what made me think that, but I just knew I was certain about having known that particular Elite from somewhere else. I just couldn't pinpoint where or when. I knew I was looking at an Honor Guard, but I hadn't ever needed to kill any of those before – never been near enough to someone important enough to have to. I had seen only a recon photograph of them.

I turned my head to see the other when it spoke to me, in English. "You are going to die a horrible death, Human. I hope you are at peace with your heathen gods. Because all of your pathetic kind will watch this moment in horror and awe as they witness what the Holy Covenant is willing to do to ensure none of your scourging species mars the Path of Reclamation when the Great Journey begins."

I looked back at the other one – he was being unusually quiet. "Okay." I said, thinking. So they were going to film this event… I had to get out of here. Who _was_ that, though??

"We will enjoy listening to you scream, Human. And we will enjoy watching you as you die slowly and painfully." He motioned at his companion, and then left – but despite what I was sure was a come-hither motion being made, the Honor Guard didn't budge. He just stood there, staring at me with a look in his dark golden eyes that I just couldn't read. The familiar nagging in the back of my head was being awful persistent, but I still couldn't identify the fellow. I was still unsure how I could claim to even have known an Elite before anyway – of any rank or position.

The yellow bracelets that circled my wrists had an odd luminescence, but I didn't notice them much until something a lot like a branch of lightning reached out from the far towering column to my left – and then another from the one on my right – and touched those bracelets, lighting them up like the overhead lamps on the starship bulkheads. I looked up at one, then at the other, then back at that Honor Guard, feeling a sudden overwhelming sense of betrayal. It was compounded by the feeling of not knowing why, or where it came from.

Fire lit up inside those bracelets, and inside of a heartbeat it had traveled through my armor and my arms, connecting in the middle in my chest cavity. I got out exactly one agonized gasp before everything went a bright white, and then faded through gray to black as I felt my body sagging against the hold on my hands.

_HONOR GUARD ZEALOT – G'WI 'CAERVASNEE_

It was the same methods used to humiliate and torture heretics. Creatures of the Covenant had been subjected to it over the ages without much incident. As I stood there, watching my Spartan staring back at me, I got the feeling something wasn't quite right. When the charge pylons lit up, he appeared more worried than afraid – and when he looked back at me, despite the dark visor I could sense his expression.

_How could you let them do this to me?_

I dared not move, though, even as I was forced to watch as the first spike lanced down, and crawling lines of electricity formed across his armored hide. They had disabled his shielding some time ago, and these lines were wrought of the damaging touch of the electric charge pylons. He stiffened, without cry, jerked sideways once, and fell limp.

The crowd fell silent, as if noncomprehending what had gone wrong. But I knew. Standing there in my new armor, wearing my new rank, I had just watched as the Covenant I worked for condemned the one that had brought me that station, and then stood there, doing nothing, as they killed him. Aside that no one had wanted him to die so suddenly, I felt my chest tighten as my expression slowly turned to combined remorse and shame. After everything, knowing a Human for a month had changed my outlook, and here I stood, witness to his death. There was no questioning this fact – Humans didn't operate with the same mechanism the rest of us did.

The electric shock from one side might have been tolerable, but the branches had traveled down both arms, and connected in the center – right exactly where, I noted from memory, the heart was.

Doubtless the charge had stopped it cold, leaving him limp and unresponsive as the rest of his body followed and shut down, leaving nothing more than a carcass for the Covenant to stare at in denial. This whole event had been shaped around the Spartan's demise taking most of the day. But as the pylons were shut off, no one said a word, each aware almost instinctually what had happened – already many in the crowds had begun to file away, leaving for lack of interest in watching a Human hang dead from energy cuffs.

The Prophet and his Guard left shortly, too, as the Jiralhanae attending the prisoner were dismissed for lack of their brute force being needed. It only took an hour, spare a few minutes or so, for the entire Proclamation Chamber to empty, until it was only myself, the Spartan, and the Imperial Admiral.

I stayed where I was, he stayed where he was. I looked past the Spartan's shoulder, at the Admiral, then bowed my head. It felt as though I had sacrificed the only friend I had ever been granted for a position I hadn't wanted. When I looked up, all I saw was the Admiral's slowly retreating back, his cape swaying with his steps, the edges tugged at lightly by the artificial breeze generated by the fact that the room was so huge.

Looking back at the Spartan, I stepped forward, and wrapped an arm around his chest, before reaching up and disengaging the cuffs one at a time, so he hung draped over my arm. Scooping my other arm under his knees, I turned from the place, and carried him from the site of his end, through the door and away into the depths of High Charity's halls and corridors.

The look he had given me still haunted me, each step taken an echo of that sentiment. _How could you let them do this to me?_ The question, unasked, remained unanswered. I was at fault, I was to blame, and all he had ever asked of me was to leave him be, to let him go home. I was home… and had never felt more alien to this place. He was dead, now… as much gone home as anyone ever could be.

But I felt responsible. I felt as though I had sacrificed my own brother for personal gain, one of my own, an honored Sangheili warrior. He was beyond heavy as hell, but I don't know that I noticed, so much, as the only thing I could truly feel was my regret, and my shame. He had asked only for a chance at freedom, and instead I had condemned him. It was odd to me that I would have cared, enough to feel a traitor when he was killed, when just a month ago I would have shot him myself just for being Human.

Amazing what a month socializing with the enemy can do.

I reached my destination easily enough, quickly enough, and paused to look up and around at my surroundings. Here lay the vanguard of the Great Journey – everything the Covenant stood for, each one from first to last; I stood in the Mausoleum of the Arbiter. The one in my arms now could not have stood for such a worthier cause as any of the rest, if not a more worthy one. He had invested in me a wonder, a curiosity, a driving puzzle that had me in doubt of all I had ever believed.

Humans, the Prophets claimed, were a manifestation of evil. They had to be eradicated. Could they be, truly, if even the ones the race had bred for war were like this one? Could they be truly evil, truly manifested to destroy all things great and good in this life, when after everything, all the dead and more to die, the threats and promises… after what I had done – he had looked at me with betrayal in his eyes, not hatred. Even though I had never seen them, the look reflected through that dark visor was etched into my soul now, because I understood.

I laid him on the bed of a stasis module, and watched as it slid closed, the indicator lights on the outside activating and indicating stasis had been engaged successfully. Beside him lay the bodies of all those Arbiters who had been created and consumed in times of great crisis, much like now. Even if he would never gain recognition as such, he was as much an Arbiter as they had been, even if the best he'd done was break the communication gap between our respective races, making room for something no one had ever before considered; that maybe, just maybe, the Prophets might be wrong.

I turned as my gaze followed the rows of modules along the wall, the mostly dark chamber reflecting the indicator lights for each. Soft, light footsteps echoed around the place, but I didn't turn. I knew who it was. He'd done enough walking around while I was there for me to know who it was. He walked with a two-four beat, with something of an odd clicking on the right side where he limped. The Imperial Admiral had been wounded rather badly at one point in his past, making room for a bio-electric limb. Said limb happened to be his right leg, from the knee down. The combat shoe for that hoof clicked on the inside, as a result, when normal hoof-nail would not have.

He stopped, a yard from where I stood, barely within my peripheral. "You are a peculiar warrior, Caervasnee." He spoke, softly so as not to echo. "I do not pretend to know you."

I didn't even try to answer. Nothing I said now or ever would change anything. The war with the Humans would continue, because I was not a Prophet – and anyone who did not agree with the Prophets was a heretic, and later soon dead, too.

"I do not presume to insult your honor, but I had wondered why it appears to me that your mourn for the death of that Human?"

I turned my head, then, to look at him.

"There is more, isn't there?" He pressed.

I made neither expression nor attempt at words.

"Barely have you a day in your new armor and you seek to shed it?" He questioned.

My mind hurt too much for this nonsense – before he could realize what was about to happen to him, I had torn the ceremonial sword from my belt and sent its blade through him, laying him across the floor in pieces. I stood over his decapitated body for a time before shutting it off again, and turning away. No one understood me – and I was not presumptuous enough to think they ever might. I was already a traitor to my own soul, so any other loyalties I held were subject to revision.

I left the Mausoleum, and the Spartan I had placed in its care, heading back through the halls alone again. If and when someone found the body of that Imperial Admiral, they would never know who had killed him; I was above suspicion now, most honored and revered. Many coveted my position, and few obtained it. But I was not one of the Honor Guard who stood statute and watched as horrors were committed by the ones around me. No, I was going to be the one that acted, the one who made things better, the one that ensured no more of the same could ever haunt me again.

The price was high, and it had been paid in full. I wasn't going to let the gain be wasted by inaction. The age of prejudice was over for me, and in the name of one I had never truly known and knew not the name of, there was hell to pay. I already knew what it was like to suffer at the bottom, already had endured enough brutality and nonchalant neglect to understand how nothing would be served by standing idle and waiting for someone else to step up and take incentive. In this chess game, it was I who ruled the pieces.

And I was fixing to make a move.


	2. Talk of Futures

2; Talk of Futures HONOR GUARD ZEALOT – G'WI 'CAERVASNEE

High Councilor Szchar 'Movashdea was standing less than six feet from me, but it wasn't myself in attendance nor were we engaged in converse. The Councilor, along with myself and about twelve other Honor Guards like me, were in something of a foyer chamber that led to the bigger, more accommodating Council Chamber here in High Charity. For some reason, 'Movashdea wanted to be the last to enter said chamber, and whatever reason it was, he wasn't sharing it.

Beside me to my left and right were twin children of a bloodline I honestly had never heard of before – the House of Vas. Both males were slightly larger than I, and one had a mate who was so drop dead gorgeous he'd stopped taking her to outings and events where any of his co-workers might attend. This was all speculation to me, because while I had heard this proclaimed, I had never personally seen the female… and due to the nature of the word passed around, I likely never would.

I also didn't give a damn. If she looked half as pretty as was claimed, she still couldn't match the stunning presence I had the honor of growing up with; my own mother. She had been proud of me, the day I had been selected from the parade by the Academy, and until her death had written me notes and letters almost every week since then. I guess my failure to obtain a girlfriend or mate had disappointed her, but unlike all the rest of the Covenant, she alone had understood and listened to what I had to say – and she understood me. Nobody else had done that, no one until that Spartan.

It had been three weeks since that day, and my preparation training segment was up. I was surprised at my own self for making the grade, more so for not causing my tutors to roll their eyes at me. But I still felt awkward in my new armor. 'Movashdea had his face glued to a data pad, staring at the small screen with such intensity and determination I was beginning to wonder if he'd forgotten where he'd saved his speech to on the thing, and now right before a Council session couldn't find the damn thing to give it to anyone inside the Chamber.

The outer doors slid open, and another robed and armored Council member strode through, his own entourage of Honor Guards in ranks at his heels. We watched them pass, but I didn't understand why when nearly everyone in my company gaped openly at one of the members of their company. Who it was they thought they were staring at was beyond me, as I couldn't pick any of them out from the rest as anything significant.

The Councilors paused to converse quietly, before the other continued on, leaving ours and us still standing in the foyer wondering what the damn holdup was. I had never thought this job would be so boring. When the main chamber doors had closed behind the last of them, one of the Vas twins looked at me, and said, "You know him?"

I looked back, startled.

"Maaan." He swore under his breath. "You must really be something, 'Caervasnee. _I_ don't know that warrior, and _my_ bloodline knows who he is!"

"Shh!" His twin scolded. "You can talk about this later."

"I have no idea what you are talking about. Know who?" I asked, looking from one to the other.

"Come on, we're moving now. About time, too." The one I had asked responded. Sure enough, our idle Councilor had decided to move, finally, and we headed through the doors after him like good little guardians. There were a lot of eyes on us, for a short time, I noted, as we climbed the stair to the Councilor's seat among his peers. We assembled behind and to the side with rank after rank of more of the same – Honor Guards were all over this place, littered through it like leaves fallen from a tree in Autumn. I had never seen so many of them in one place before, but then I'd not been inside a Council Chamber during session before, either.

As the discussions and debates crisscrossed between members of the Council, the youngest Vas twin, who was now on my other side from before, tilted his head in my direction. "How did you meet that guy?"

I glanced back at him, unsure what he meant.

"Come on, 'Caervasnee, I'm dying to know. Nobody who I've known in the past has known anything about him, and suddenly out of the deep hollow abyss of untraceable sources comes you, and you know him? Enough to not be in awe of his very presence! How did you first meet?"

"Meet who?" Another asked, right before I could speak to ask the exact same query.

This other Guard was part of another Councilor's entourage, though, which was probably what earned him the right to ask that question; he had little more idea than I as to what in the world was being discussed past me. The answer was simple, but it still meant nothing to me. "One of Councilor 'Akaendea's Guard – Anuna 'Vadumee."

Now, 'Vadumee rang a bell, but Anuna did not. I was still clueless.

"You mean Rtas's little brother is here? Now?" The other gasped. "Where?" And he started to scan the crowds and ranks of Honor Guards that he could see from where we were. Rtas? I recognized that name… wait. My hearts stopped in sudden dual cardiac arrest. Rtas Vadumee! Supreme Commander of the Fleet of Particular Justice! I almost dropped dead right then. He was far too young to have obtained the post the usual way, so if his brother was younger than him, he too was far too young to have earned his place by any normal means. Which meant their whole bloodline was full of practically augmented sons who beat and broke the mold like mad every time they were presented with one – and rising to great power and honor with every step taken.

And I thought _I _was lucky to have this post.

"'Caervasnee here knows him." My comrade lied. "I saw them nod to one another, and he was acting like Anuna was just another Guard."

Nod? I was dozing! If Anuna nodded back, that was _his_ problem. But this was an interesting turn of events.

"He does? How? I don't even recognize his House name – he can't have been a neighbor as a child."

I frowned deeply at him.

He backed up a step, as if afraid of me. As if expecting me to own the same genetic prowess as the Dum House's children. "Easy, there, 'Caervasnee." The Vas twin said, touching my other shoulder. "Don't start a fight in the middle of a Council session." To the Guard on my other side from him, he added, "I don't know – he won't tell me. In fact, he won't tell me anything, of any nature. I don't know what he's hiding, but the more time goes on the bigger I think it must be."

Hiding? Hadn't I said something to him in the foyer chamber? I looked back at him, then, a puzzled expression on my face. Still, I realized, he probably didn't see it – where we were standing was darkened so we didn't outshine the Councilors. He met my gaze despite, though, and after a moment stepped away from me, too.

"Easy, 'Caervasnee." He repeated. "No one wants to fight you."

I sighed, and looked away, down at the Councilors. Nobody heard what I had to say, no one bothered to listen… and now I was being accused of socializing with some big name lad I hadn't heard of until then. If they kept this up, I was going to be called out by a Councilor for questioning, and gods knew that was never fun… nor pretty.

Mercifully, the Council session lasted only a few hours, until one of the others were called out by some un-proclaimed emergency, effectively ending the session right then and there. So the other Councilors mingled for a bit to chat idly like friends about mates, young, even jesting about antics they had seen some poor unfortunate lesser commit; be they Sangheili or otherwise.

'Movashdea did a fair amount of this, even going so far as to boast to one of his fellows about me – and specifically. I was so scared I just stood there like a statue, the whole time. If he or anyone else had asked me anything, I would not have been able to respond. Apparently my rigid posture meant something, though, even as my eyes darted from 'Movashdea to the other Councilor, and back. They shared a casual laugh, before 'Movashdea decided it was time to go, since it was deemed that our self-dismissed and since-departed missing Council member was not liable to be returning today.

I barely got my joints to unlock in time to follow at any kind of proximity, but the one person I had suddenly decided I feared most in that room was watching me the whole way out. Anuna 'Vadumee.

His penetrating, expressionless, dark gaze clung to my golden armor like blood, drooling over my contours and making their way across every inch of my being, staining there in the sheath of fear I wore like a mantle. I was never more glad to escape then right then, had never been happier to have been out of anyone else's sight. We were all aboard our transport and airborne before the next malady presented itself; 'Movashdea approached me, wearing one of those looks.

I felt my hearts sink, well knowing what was coming next. "The others tell me you are acquainted with the second son of House Dum." He greeted, almost toneless. I dared not reply to that – regardless of the depth of truth it held. "You surprise me, 'Caervasnee." He mentioned, examining the claws on his left hand, the other tucked behind his back. "Your title adheres you to a bloodline far inferior to theirs… yet you commune as like the Vas twins here." He gestured at them, and I swear I saw them both shrink from the male, visibly… I won't put money on it, but I was guessing at the time that that action was better missed by the Councilor, when all was told.

I only blinked – that was all I did, I swear upon the graves of all things ancestral and honorable, that was _all_ I did. But that hand came up, those claws came out, and he raked them across my face in just such a way that my helmet didn't save me, as well as that my head was turned for the blow, knocking my helmet's crest against the bulkhead behind me and rattling my brains for the effort. Dizzily, I staggered away; was this jealousy, or just irritation? And why boast about me if I was this irritating? Holding the side of my head, I looked back at him, wondering if I ought to have said something.

"Fool!" he roared. Oh, yes. He was mad at me, there was no question about that, no sir. I stepped back from him, fearing for bodily integrity. This Councilor was rumored to have been the one that had torn the bowels from a certain Jiralhanae Sharquoi Handler for something… once. I don't recall why he did it, only that he did, or was said to have done it. Having such a fellow riled at me was not a pretty prospect, and I collided with more than a few of my fellow Guard before I reached the end of the line; the airlock.

'Movashdea had followed me the whole way, stalking me, like some kind of prey animal. I didn't beg – I didn't speak at all. But this time, when he reached to hit me again, this time with a curled fist, I snapped forward on an instinct that had been drilled into me in training, and caught the wrist of that hand. He snarled at me, obviously angry and not caring who or how many of what from where was watching.

"You lowly _scum_ of a warrior supposes to outdo me! You will not own ties of _any_ kind with the Dum House! If you _ever_ speak to Anuna again, I shall have your head on a pike before my homestead on Dorenth!"

I was a little shocked, I admit… this was not turning the way I had thought it was. But that observation made the situation no less perilous.

"_Is that clear?!_" He demanded, with more volume than he needed, his face and mine nearly touching when he said the words. I realized, I suppose, within the scope of that one demand what I needed to do to extricate myself from this in one piece; so I opened my hand that had been around his wrist, and bowed my head… then hoped for the best.

Apparently, there could have been no better reaction… that or 'Movashdea was stoked on something that was making him crazy. He yanked away from me with a semi-satisfied sounding huff, and stalked back to the other end of the transport we were in. I raised my head enough to watch him go, but as soon as he entered the cockpit – where his seat was – I slumped against the wall I was backed up to, shaking. With every fiber of my being, I knew I had wanted to kill him. And it had taken every fiber of my being to keep myself from doing just that.

To their credit, my fellow Guard gathered around me, one or two squatting to my level with their hands on my shoulders in reassurance that I still had someone on my side – the Councilor's wishes aside. It was comforting, in a way, to know that they were not as blind as some of our kin were, turning the other cheek while countless innocent were slaughtered at varying whims. By the time we reached the Councilor's personal starcraft, I had regained my composure, and we filed off each in total silence unlike any I had ever realized my group to entertain.

'Movashdea was crazy. There were no doubts about that part. But no one dared contest the male… he wasn't affiliated with all of the other noble Houses, but he certainly held a number of them's backings. I admit I was horrified at the depth of the rot running through our Holy Covenant. As 'Movashdea retired at last to his quarters, and we exchanged places with a fresh compliment to retire as well, my thoughts turned yet again to a certain Human I had once known, long ago… it had been years, now, if only a few. But I could still see that shiny visor whenever I closed my eyes. I wondered if he had forgiven me yet, for all the wrong I had caused him… for all the wrong I had done him.

It seemed ironic that his had been the only Human life I was responsible for the taking of. I took a deep breath, and lifted my helmet from my head, feeling it as a heavy burden more than a mark of pride or honor… and I let it fall rather than setting it down as I had been taught, so it landed upside down in an unceremonious manner where it belonged. All my comrades were watching me, witness to my sudden nonchalance for the ritual and routine we had been drilled for. I clawed out of my armor, let that drop, too… left it all in a heap, really, turning my back on it all and closing the door to my own humble quarters with the familiar hiss of the lock. Tonight it was loud indeed, as if the hiss of the airlock thumping open and heralding my end… the finale of my story.

I collapsed on the bed, and rolled onto my back, feeling the burning claw marks on my face. I had my hands tucked over my stomach, but I had no honest idea at that point if I even held the capacity to sleep – let alone well enough to be up again at the scheduled time change to take my place at the assigned post… did I care, even? Could I let it matter to me? Nothing honorable was worth this. In fact, I was being dishonored… even disgraced… by this Councilor's behavior. He was a menace. And someone had to do something about it.

In the end, training won out – I dozed, if fitfully, and rose again in time to dress again and eat, then assume my post – but instead of performing this last, I walked all the way up that aisle to the door beyond which was 'Movashdea's quarter, and most likely, 'Movashdea himself, as when not feeling 'duty bound' he was typically a lazy bastard. From within I heard no sound, but the other Guard let me pass, as there were two places inside those doors as well where Guard were posted. I got lucky – both had left, and neither assigned had shown up yet. I let the door close behind me, sliding down and together in that odd flower-petal fashion that had always fascinated me, and turned to look around at the interior of the Councilor's personal quarter.

As expected, but never previously proven personally, it was lavish to the point of being gaudy… but that was my own taste, and I had a thing for open places, whereas 'Movashdea obviously was rather materialistic and enjoyed his clutter. Abandoning all pretense of standing to one or the other side of the door, I stepped farther in, beginning to hear a light tease of noise from deeper within. As I neared the actual whereabouts of the bed itself, I lifted a couple layers of gossamer curtain aside gently, to see where I was facing. Oh, well, that… yes, that explained the nature of the noise, however faint it had been.

If possessed of nothing else, I had to admit the Councilor had kept his body in very good shape over the years, as whipcord muscle rolled beneath flawless ebon skin. He glistened with sweat, moving in tune to an orchestra I couldn't hear… and while everyone knew the male was mated… I was pretty certain the female he'd roped into his room was not her. In fact, I was pretty sure no one had known she was even there, which meant 'Movashdea had been keeping her confined all this time… since leaving Dorenth, this vessel had been afloat for more than three years. That was more time than I could count as service as a Zealot.

She looked a lot like he did, as far as basics went – a body sculpted and toned, flawless skin… and sweaty. But she was a hell of a lot more attractive than he was, even if she'd been clothed at the time of our … ahem … introduction. It was she who noticed me first, but her startled gasp at seeing me there was lost on the male atop her – though briefly. It took him until he realized she was nolonger paying what he was doing any mind to realize they weren't alone anymore. But his expression when he saw me was rather humorous, if in context, and definitely priceless.

"Out!" He flung an arm towards the exit. I didn't move. Seeing as much, he flung the female from his proximity, and she gave a pained cry when she hit the floor at a rather bad angle. But I was hardly distracted – I was in one of those calm despite all hell modes, for some reason, and acutely focused. I stepped forward as 'Movashdea turned to face me, coming to recognize which of his Guard compliment I was as he saw the marks he'd left on my face earlier. "You will die for this insult." He growled.

My only reply was to ignite the sword I hadn't realized was in my grasp – and before he could react to it, I slid it through his chest, until my fist touched his breastbone. His face twisted between agony and disbelief… but he knew he was dead, even before he'd let go that final thread. I let him slide off my blade into a heap on the floor in a growing pool of his own blood, as the massive trauma several major arteries had suffered broke through the cauterization rendered by the nature of my weapon.

Witness to the entire episode, the female sat curled against the far drape-hung wall, staring at me in horror and shaking in fear. She couldn't last, like that, but as I closed the gap, she thought she saw something in my eyes, and came partly uncurled off the floor before I raised my blade again, allowing that she join her infidel lover in death. I lifted the gossamer aside as I passed back the other way, my sword hung back on my belt once more, all evidence long since removed. I had not a fleck of blood on my armor, but it was all over everything in and around that bed. I left the chambers entirely, striding down the hall to where my real post was and taking up my position there right as the pair truly meant for the detail inside the Councilor's quarters passed me. I earned neither odd looks nor suspicious query as they passed, but I hadn't even come to realize my own deed by that point.

Meanwhile, as the ship made its way to who knew where, I stood there in the hall getting a bad feeling about some impending event… and it had to do with me. I had the idea that maybe my armor was going to eat me, but it had neither mandibles nor a digestive tract to need such forms of sustenance. A good oil and polish kept it around quite nicely, actually, and only topical applications at that. But there was that one other Guard who kept looking at each of the rest of us, as if waiting for something – and making me worry.

What if that feeling was right, and it was only a matter of time until something… pain exploded under my ribcage in a sudden, overwhelming burst, and I doubled over, breathless, to my knees. My staff clattered to the floor beside me, forgotten, as I curled on my knees to nearly touch my helm to the floor before me. All I knew was that I couldn't breathe, and the pain lancing through my solar plexus was about near to make me black out. I could hear my own claws scratching at my vest in that area, but to no avail – I wasn't coherent enough to get it off of me, but even as I was finally granted my next breath, I only proceeded to cough, and what came up my throat was my own blood, in copious amounts.

All my fellow Guards had abandoned their posts, but when I looked up, I saw past a cluster of legs that I was not the only one so afflicted. Just up the hall, a little nearer the Councilor's door than me, another of us had gone down, and he too was sputtering blood, on his own knees with one hand on the floor.

Gasping, heaving, choking on my flooded windpipe, I tried to reach him – for some reason no one could see that almost as soon as they had all turned their backs, one more had fallen. Seeing my directed distress, one of the Vas twins finally turned to see what I was pointing at; and as soon as he did, members broke from around me to gather around him, too – we were both carried hastily away, rushing through the corridors of the ship even as we fought for breath and pulled helplessly at our armor – I swear it really was trying to eat me. I felt akin to the way one might feel if one were punctured by a needle as big as one's finger, and then injected with about forty cc's of a potent acid.

The branching agony had spread, burning like fires all through every vein I owned, causing my chest to constrict and deny me breath regardless of the blood pouring out my mouth and dribbling from my mandibles. As I faded from consciousness, I reflected to the image of a polarized, reflective visor… and a look of betrayal from behind it. Had I failed, so utterly?

_HONOR GUARD ZEALOT – ANUNA 'VADUMEE_

I had begun to visualize going home again in the half-hour it took for the honored Councilor I was escorting to arrive at the foyer to the Council Chamber, but the thought derailed when we passed those doors. I had gotten used to the reactions of my fellows, all the Guard in that small room gaping openly at me as I strode past; but even though I had long since dismissed this as normal, one of their number stood apart almost like shiny black on flat white. He neither gaped at me nor did he look the least bit surprised; instead, he ran his eyes over my whole company before looking back at me, and giving a slight nod.

My hearts skipped a beat. I had never seen a professional Assassin Guard before, but here I was never more sure that that was what I was looking at. He was calm, collected, and composed… not to mention stone silent. His placid expression betrayed no thought, his dark gold eyes betrayed no secrets. In all honesty I was a little agape at _him_. Timidly, I nodded back… and hoped he wasn't scoping me out for a kill.

My brother Rtas and I had obtained much in our short lives, but thus far despite all comers we still stood, and strong. I had made it through the Academy in what felt like a breath, thrust into battle I had at first mistook for a training segment… later to learn that the weapons were real and the fallen truly had died. I had hardened a little since then, but I had yet to approach an enemy I couldn't defeat without needing much time or effort. But they all had had one thing in common; emotion. Here stood the most stoic warrior I had ever seen, either numb or uncaring, and he looked dangerous indeed.

In fact, he scared me shitless… and I was glad he wasn't watching me, else he would have seen me squirm. All my fellow Guard agreed with the assessment I had made of him, and we were all very grateful to get out of that foyer… myself, I think, especially. We were all in position when that party entered, and I watched them all, trying to pick out the Assassin Guard from the ranks. It wasn't hard. Just a tier above them, I then stood witness to their conversation past the booming, sometimes echoing voices of the Councilors during session… and never once did that one Guard ever utter a word. He looked at them, only, as if in warning, and they stepped back from him, despite trying not to be threatening. It gave me a new appreciation for the male… all doubt about his prowess was erased, solidifying my respect for his capability… even though I had never really met him or seen him in action.

He was a marvel to me, really… as afraid of him as I was, I was now infinitely curious, and I wanted to know more. The Guard at my elbows insisted to me that that was the one thing I didn't want to mess with, or get into, but if there was one flaw in my bloodline, it was our insatiable curiosity. I yearned to know more. At last, having met one of the fabled few, I wanted desperately to know more… though I admit I was also a little scared of going and finding out.

The session ended early when one of the other Councilors got a message calling him away on urgent business, and the result of his departure was all the others gathered on the main floor and had a brief chat. I was standing less than three feet from that Assassin Guard when I heard the Councilor he was escorting tell another about him… and with my back turned, I finally did gape – from the depths of an abyss of honorless Houses without title or claim, that fellow had emerged, great and strong, the only soul amid a company who defeated one of the Human Spartans… and when everyone else was dead, he defeated that enemy single handedly, without assistance from any weapon save his own fists. Then he'd dragged it back with him, and thrown it at the Prophet's feet. I remembered watching the broadcast of that event – the Spartan had been a disappointment, but it explained why I had been utterly unable to identify why there was an Honor Guard standing there watching him. Or, who that Guard had been. Now here he stood, rigid like all business without woe or worry, bereft of all holds of mate or young… I dared to turn, to see him, closer now.

His expression, as like before, was as blank and placid as a bare chamber wall. But even as the light glinted off the moisture on his eyes, I got the distinct impression he knew all that happened around him and he knew I was watching him. His Councilor left before mine did, though, and I watched him go, wishing for an opportunity to pick his brains. The story of his ascension was fascinating to me. More so than my own, to the others. I wanted to know more… and the desire burned me alive.

We somehow made it out of the Council Chamber and all the way aboard the orbital ship before I noticed, and I felt a little dizzy with the sudden realization of what I had missed. My companions had to direct me when I tried to find my quarters, else I would have been lost. Stacking my armor neatly like I always had, I retired to my room and sat on the bed, trying to think past my spinning head. The events of the day were beyond abnormal for me, but I was hooked – I had to find some way to get in contact with that warrior, and talk to him. Maybe convince him to talk to me. I don't know if I was grinning like a fool or not, but the looks my companion Guards gave me made me think I was. Implications swirled in my brain faster than any situational calculation ever had.

All of the others were bigger than I was, standing sometimes as much as a head and shoulder over me, but I was never daunted – after all, I wasn't done growing yet. I didn't think I'd get as big as the biggest member on the dispatch, but I don't know that I would want to be… he had to duck every single doorway he passed, able to stand fully straight only under raised ceilings. We sometimes joked about him, being too big to fit, but he understood, and would poke at me for being the smallest member as well. We all knew I would outgrow that position eventually, but for the time being it was still fun.

But when it was time to get up again, I had barely finished donning my armor when an alarm forestalled any of our arrivals at our posts. We rushed, then, and clustered at the bridge for the news, as that was where the Councilor was. He looked most distraught, but he also looked relieved to see us – and regrettably, more so because I was there. Turning to see us all, he addressed our curiosity.

"High Councilor 'Movashdea is dead." 'Akaendea said. "He was murdered… inside his own personal quarters."

Astonished muttering rippled through our ranks. Bile rose in my throat… had I been looking at the means of the Councilor's demise all that time, and saying nothing?

'Akaendea continued, though, with more; "Five of his Guard have also been killed, but the means is as yet unknown. Reports claim there are three more who are still alive that suffered the same attack… according to the ones left untouched, the afflicted merely doubled up and began to cough up blood. There was no boarding, there was no grand attack. We don't know what happened."

I stepped forward. "Could it have been one of their own?"

'Akaendea looked at me. "What do you mean?"

"One of 'Movashdea's Guard… he was unlike the others. I've never seen him before but he acted as though he expected me."

"Ah, that one. You refer to G'wi 'Caervasnee… he's among the fallen."

I stopped cold. "But…"

"Did you mean to accuse him of killing so many of his own, as well as the Councilor, Vadumee?" 'Akaendea asked.

"No, sir." I decided, changing tack. "He just seemed… out of place."

"Not an unusual line of reasoning, I admit – I had thought perhaps the same, until I realized that he was actually the _first_ one to go down, when the members of the Guard started collapsing. We have all been ordered back to High Charity, and everything and everyone is going to be inspected." 'Akaendea informed us.

I stood in little more than shock… my whole mind was awhirl with implications, possibilities, meanings… why kill a Councilor right in the middle of a mess of his Guard? It was sure suicide… and then to kill a number of the Guard without giving them chance to fight back! How, how, how? And if the Assassin Guard was responsible, how could he have brought so many down with him if he'd been the first to fall?

That he was dead, so suddenly, I found hard to grasp. Actually, I found the whole thing hard to grasp. I had been feet from them just the other day. I spent the next six hours wracking my brains, until finally I went back to 'Akaendea and asked if I could inspect the scene. He and a small number – meaning three others – of the other members of our Guard dispatch went over to 'Movashdea's cruiser and proceeded to the crime scene. The mess had been left for the sake of investigation, but gruesome as it was, I couldn't figure out any pattern. First Guard on the left of the outside of the door, sixth Guard from the door down the hall… that wasn't exactly any pattern I knew of, unless it was meant to target individual Guard members, in which case there wouldn't _be_ any particular 'pattern'… just attacking wherever those individuals happened to be standing.

I left the group I was with and stepped through the door to 'Movashdea's quarters, as they had been locked open. The place reeked of blood, but it was as quiet as a tomb, and just a little on the creepy side. Stepping past the foyer of the chambers, I approached what looked like a partially shredded, blood-soaked gossamer curtain. Beyond it, the silhouette of a bed… among other things. Lifting it aside to see in, I noted all the giant pools of blood on the floor, but all pretense of honor flew when I recognized the nature of the picture before me.

Letting the curtain fall, I turned away in disgust, and stalked back out of the room. No one had bothered to arrange the scene in here any at all, likely when they saw it for the same thing I had. I stepped back into the hall, and caught 'Akaendea's eye. If anyone was allowed to pass judgment on a Councilor, it would be him. I had him go in and look at the scene inside the chambers, while I went down the various halls that had held the unfortunate members of 'Movashdea's Guard. No… there was no pattern. None that I could discern. Finally, I accessed a data bank and looked up names.

I felt my blood go cold and still as I read off the names – some I didn't really know why, but most of them seemed obvious to me now. They were all children of powerful Houses. There had been a pair of Vas children in 'Movasdea's compliment, and both had gone down, though it was witnessed and documented inside the medical bay – they had come in carrying the first victims, only to collapse themselves before they had a chance to leave again. Shaking my head, I moved on, then, to the medical chambers to see who was still alive out of the eight affected by this mysterious attack.

Word was there were three. I stepped through the doorway, and looked around. Heaps of golden armor had been shoved into corners, as the healers had peeled and pried their patients out of it in a rushed panic, trying to get at them before they died. That most of them never made it was testament to the idea that they had not been intended to last long enough to get at help… let alone receive any. I strode quietly down the row of covered corpses, feeling my hearts sink. Fine warriors, all, killed in such an honorless way. Finally, I arrived at the end, where the three lucky… or unlucky, depending… remained. I was not surprised to learn that two of them were the twins – if one made it through, he was going to drag the other with him, because that was how twins operated. Together, all or nothing. I could have told that if one died the other would too, without ever looking at either. You didn't need to be a healer to figure out the connection between twin children.

The third, though, gave me pause. First to fall, last to die? The name resurfaced; G'wi 'Caervasnee. I stood there just looking at him, pale, weak… his breath shallow. I heard the healer approach from behind me, and pause just behind my peripheral view.

"They told me you might come." He mentioned.

I turned my head, to look at him. "Did they?"

"I was told you two knew one another – yes. I expected you."

Inwardly I was surprised – he knew me? If he did, I still didn't know him. But outwardly all I did was grunt. "What happened?"

"To the best of my knowledge, someone attached small explosives to the inner lip of their armor vests, each with a timer. Since they all detonated, though, there is no way of knowing who put them there. What I want to know is who stabbed the Councilor. He doubtless saw his killer, as the breadth of the laceration decreased in his back, indicating the sword went through him from the front. As for his Guard… I can only guess."

"Guess who?" I demanded, turning fully to face him. He backed up a step.

"No one has made the suspect list as of yet, I assure you – we don't have enough evidence. I was told that the Councilor was rather irritated with that one, before this happened, but most of the others – most of whom are dead – they never incited any such reaction, and I can hardly call a Councilor out for killing his own Guard when he died before any of them were even hurt."

"You know this?"

"I have been doing my job for far longer than you have lived, warrior. I know the age of a wound even after it has healed."

I breathed a sigh. "So there really was someone at the operating end of this… and it was not some cloaked warrior gone rogue."

He nodded, only. "These three… they are very weak, but the twins are showing promise."

I looked back at him. "Not the other one?"

"Faint… if much. It took more surgery on that one than any of the others that came in here alive. If he makes it, he'll never be the same. I doubt if he could ever match his old standard of prowess, or if he'll even remember who he is. He lost a lot of blood."

I grunted. So much for picking his brains.

"You… might help, actually… if you were to speak to him, when he finally does reawaken."

I looked down at the collapsed remnants of a once great warrior, and wondered if it was even kind to allow him to persist under such circumstances – still, if he had even the slightest notion who had handled his armor, or who had gone into the Councilor's chambers before all of this, then he needed to live at least that long, to tell someone more capable of doing something about it. "Keep me appraised." Then I turned, and left.

I met Councilor 'Akaendea outside, and he gave me one of those expectant, curious looks that one expects to get when one has returned from an intel sweep; translated, the look meant, "Well? What have you found?"

I drew a breath. "The healer told me the Councilor was killed before _any_ of the Guards went down. Whatever happened, though, it happened fast, and our only link to the incident is in there, unconscious at best, and may or may not live."

'Akaendea didn't look terribly pleased, but he nodded. "Which ones survived?"

"Caervasnee, and the Vas twins, sir." I told him. "If I might be so bold, though, I doubt seriously that Caervasnee will make it."

He nodded again. "Very well… I will see them." I stepped aside, and he went past me and in, the other three of our party following him. I let them – I was feeling very overwhelmed and a little mixed about the whole thing. Disaster struck fairly often around that guy, so I'd learned, and he'd escaped death by millimeters each time. Could he say the same now? Or would this be the final straw? I wondered how the idea of him knowing me had circulated – and how had they known to expect me? Was the entire thing a set up of some kind? Would I face this super menace that had killed the Councilor and his Guard too? Or was that the point at all?

Did he mean to penetrate the holy city of High Charity, and begin anew with killing Prophets? Would we crumble so easily? I stood there for several hours, or what felt like several, before 'Akaendea finally emerged again, and we filed silently off the cruiser again. We had done all we could, here. In the meantime, if he had the time, I needed to speak with my elder brother on this; too many things were spinning in this soup, and I couldn't see it all from my place at the bottom of the pot.

_HONOR GUARD ZEALOT – G'WI 'CAERVASNEE_

The world presented itself as a large, blurred image, all the colors run together, but it was dark, and quiet. Thankful at least for that last, I managed to turn my head, and the first thing I saw was the same Vas who had turned from me to address that other warrior they hadn't realized was suffering like I was until I'd pointed it out. He looked a lot like me, right now, or at least looked like I felt.

My whole ribcage burned and tingled, as did all its contents, but the fiery pain had lessened, for what that was worth, and I pressed into a seated pose to better see my surroundings. Tiny pinpricks of protest emanated from my injury, causing me to notice it for the first time. Ah, so I _had_ been stabbed… but pressing the fingers of one hand against the soft bandaging material over it, I sensed it had not been so simple as that. This was not like a knife wound. Turning, I swung my legs over the side of the medical flat I'd been laid on, to face the other warrior, and wonder what would become of me now.

I pressed from my place sitting on the hard, unforgiving surface of the flat, and stood – it felt like a rush of maddening memory fell on me, but for the next several minutes I just stood there, trying to make heads or tails of my surroundings – it would be a whole week before it came back to me, but in the mean time, I had just suffered a massive case of amnesia… which might explain some of the things I did next; tottering past the feet of the Vas twins, I made for the door, like some idiot expecting to find the hows and whys beyond the door to the hall.

I got out, and then got lost, but I was still determinedly wandering along and around like I knew where I was when inwardly I knew distinctly I had no clue… but that the only thing I had on me was the undersuit to my armor turned a few heads.

Eventually I was caught, and escorted back to where they presumed I was supposed to be keeping quarter – but though I had been positively identified as one of the Honor Guard, they didn't know which one or even which room was mine. Not that they would. But the place seemed somehow familiar to me, so I let myself down on the bed inside the far one on the right; looking back, that room belonged to one of the dead, which was probably the only reason I wasn't kicked out and relocated, but the rooms we had were verily stamped out of a mold – they all looked the same _anyway_. I don't remember what it was about, and didn't remember after waking, but I felt the same way I always had after being shaken from sleep by a horrendously terrifying dream, so I assumed I had had a nightmare, dismissed it after that, and tottered back out into the dressing chamber where we Guard kept our guns, our swords, and our armor. It was at that point that I got caught again; and only through a growled protest did I escape being dragged back to the medical bay.

Instead, someone – not sure which one – fetched my armor for me, and despite the odd scoring dent in the underside of the inner lip of the center bottom of my vest, it was fine. Shrugging into it, I followed the others down to where we were temporarily being stationed, and to all intents and purposes, I looked just like one of them – so much so that I was missed entirely when inspection passed through. I spent the better part of that day pondering the matching injury on my lower chest / upper abdomen, and dent in the inside of my armor. I was so scatterbrained that I never did come up with anything to explain such an anomaly, but since the explosive had been directed, there was no odd bulge in the metal on the outside to mark anything as amiss.

My throat and windpipe felt terribly sore, though, and for every exhalation, I could almost taste dried blood on my breath… it was disconcerting, but I was not going to tell anyone about it in case I had done it to myself somehow and just didn't recall… nothing would come back, it seemed… I followed what the others did, but I was lost. I was really, and truly, lost.

Word reached us that an Honor Guard who had been wounded in the mysterious attack was now missing, and no one knew how or when, but even when my own name was added I didn't notice. I didn't remember. I just passed it off as someone else, since it didn't ring a bell for me and I assumed whoever he was, I didn't know him. But I hoped he was found alive… it was added later that his condition was somewhere between dead and comatose, at the time of his last check. So everyone was assuming the killer of the Councilor – that name didn't ring any bells on me either – had stolen him away to hide some evidence. No one knew really what evidence it had been, unless it was some witnessed event by the fellow that the killer didn't want recounted.

I mingled with other Guard from High Charity posts, other Councilors… one or two commented on the marks on my face. Wanted to know what they were from. I didn't know, couldn't tell them. A small party of us shared a chuckle when another fellow added that he'd gotten a long gash on his arm once and had no idea what from – he'd been too busy fighting and staying alive to realize it was there until it had already scabbed over… he removed his gauntlet to show us, too – it was a fine line now, obviously a deep laceration at the time of its creation.

I found somewhere to sit, while more Guard were funneled in, having passed inspection. I began to wonder if the ships would be dismantled to try to find this phantom person… whoever they were, they were very good. I was caught off guard when someone approached me, citing I was next for questioning – startled, I followed them out, into a tiny little room where I was asked questions along the lines following;

"How long have you worked as an Honor Guard? How long did you know 'Movashdea? What were your relations with your fellow Guards? Where were you at the time the Councilor was discovered dead? What was your last encounter with the Councilor before he retired to his quarters?"

I was honestly baffled. I could only answer the same for each – "I don't know." It got me in a lot of trouble, it did, and worried me greatly. The reaction was much like I hadn't bothered to answer at all. Really, though, I could have sworn profession of ignorance was not a criminal offence! Still, they filed me away into a brig, without my helmet and weapons but otherwise untouched… I sat on the bench in the back for several long hours, my head in my hands. What was I not remembering? Was I really guilty of killing someone I had been assigned to protect? I didn't even know my own name. How could I begin to piece together a scene from my past when it was all a dark blur? Shadows of implications, at best… nothing overly profound. There was one thing, though, that stuck to me in a most haunting manner – a broad, reflective plate of convex glass, tinted so darkly it shone yellow-gold, about two hand breadths tall and four wide, set into a green… I guessed it was headgear of some kind, a helmet by best guess. But it was always staring at me, saying… something. Trying to impress some message on me, to commune in some fashion I found incalculably bizarre.

At the sound of hooves on the grating, I looked up, to see someone who very definitely did _not_ ring any bells, but he was looking at me like he knew me. "That's him." Was all he said. "Get him out of there." He turned to look at the one standing beside him. "Now." Was added for emphasis – he didn't sound in a pretty mood.

The bars slid up, opening my exit, but I just sat there, right where I was, a puzzled look on my face. Finally, the one that had given the order stepped through the doorway towards me. He paused a pace away, and studied my face, even as I studied him. Nope… no bells.

"Do you remember me?" He asked.

I shook my head.

"Do…" His expression turned pensive. "Do you know who you are?"

I focused inward, searching… but nothing came. Memory stopped sometime in the middle of the night, last night, when I found myself wandering aimlessly through a ship I was unfamiliar with. Again I shook my head.

He blew a sigh, turned, and sat beside me. "Your name is G'wi 'Caervasnee. You're an Honor Guard among the compliment Councilor 'Movasdea commanded."

I met his gaze. "Councilor?"

"You earned your place as a Zealot by handing the Prophet of Truth a Human Spartan… one of their best. It is said he killed your entire regiment before you took him down single handedly."

"One would wonder why it took me so long." I mentioned. "Why am I in a cell?"

"Do you have any recollection of the past couple of days, at all?"

I shook my head. "No… what's going on, though?"

He drew a deep breath, and told me the punch line; "High Councilor 'Movashdea is dead. Someone got to him past you and killed him in his chambers, wounding you and two others, killing five more, in the process. We can't find them… him… and we were wondering if you knew anything."

I just stared at him. Parts were beginning to make sense again… a High Councilor was someone important, well guarded… was I that sloppy, though, that someone got past me to kill him? I felt a little rotten at the prospect, but I kept my head up. "Okay."

"But you don't even know your own name, do you? Until I told you."

I nodded.

He sighed, exasperated. "Great."

"What will happen to me now?"

"Come on – there's no reason to keep you in here any longer." He stood, and waited for me to stand before walking with me out of the cell and down the corridor between the rows of them towards the exit. We left the cell block entirely, returning to the crowded chamber that was brimming with Honor Guards and ship crew – creatures I was sure I had seen before but knew nothing about huddled between more of my own kind, each of them of a million different ranks and colors. If their expressions hadn't been so sour, it would have been almost pretty – gold splashed through with blues, reds, greens… like a rainbow. Or spilled paint.

Despite the mood of the room, I smiled when I saw it, and it earned me some strange looks that I ignored. My companion stayed with me, though, on occasion saying something to me – he tried to point out members of my own dispatch, others who had worked under 'Movashdea, but I didn't recognize any of them. Finally, we reached a place where we could sit and think in relative still. The main noise of the crowd gathered here was more towards the doors that led to the docks where the ships were told to be.

Finding a seat, I looked across at my companion, wondering who _he_ was… had I known him, too? He caught my look, but before I could say a word, he responded to it. "Yes, you knew me, too."

I gave him my best surprised look.

"Although at the time, you had me at something of a loss, as I didn't really know you, in return." He added, turning my expression to puzzled again. "My name is Anuna 'Vadumee. I first saw you when you stood before the Spartan as he died… it was broadcast to the Human fleet, I heard, but all it did was stir them up and make them mad. I may have missed you before, but the first time I realized you was when we met briefly during a Council session… you were suffering accolade from 'Movashdea at the time." He smiled slightly, as if the mention was meant to amuse. I gave a timid smile in response, but it felt forced. Something about that name – 'Movashdea – it rang badly with me, and I didn't know why. Like we hadn't been the best of friends, more towards enemies. Perhaps what… Anuna? … had said was sarcasm, and meant to be more jest than fact, like it had first appeared.

He gave me a look that spoke of mild concern – he was watching the display of expression on my face, I suppose, as I tried to make heads or tails of my missing past. That nothing would come was a little disturbing to me. Anuna seemed encouraging, at least, meaning me no ill, regardless of any relations in the past.

I shook my head at him, though – no, no thoughts to share. I heaved a sigh and looked back at the pulsing crowd of mingling warriors, the ship staff clustering more and mingling less.

"I had wanted to talk with you, you know." Anuna was saying. "Before this. You fascinated me… but now we have an opportunity to speak, and you are as good for answering questions as if you were not here at all."

I nodded, not looking at him.

"I feel for you, G'wi. How hard it must be, struggling to understand the most basic of things, all for the sudden and unexplained loss of a lifetime of memory… to not even know one's self… it must be a truly unique experience."

I looked at him, then. "I feel more lost, than anything else."

He looked back at me, as his face creased. "What?"

My own expression begged explanation. "Was that unintelligible?"

He shook his head, as if to clear it, and grinned outwardly at the crowd. "You truly are something of a marvel, G'wi."

I don't know why, but I found that most amusing, and I laughed – and for reasons unknown, he laughed with me.

_HONOR GUARD ZEALOT – ANUNA 'VADUMEE_

He was certainly peculiar. I wasn't one to waste an opportunity, though, and as soon as I had heard he'd been singled out for suspicion I went looking for him. Sure enough, there he'd been, alone in a cell at the bottom of a brig. He looked miserable in there, head in hands. But there was no recognition of anything, great or small, in his dark golden eyes. He was effectively dead to the world, unable to grasp the most basic of mentions. But he tried to – I could see that much. He wanted to know what had happened to him, wanted to know why.

None could blame the fellow, really, for desiring the answers to those questions. He couldn't even recall his own name, but at this point I had to wonder if it weren't something he could heal from – maybe even recover fully – if he just had help, and prompting towards remembering. He certainly seemed willing to try to.

But talking to him… I was beginning to understand why he never spoke to anyone, beginning to grasp what held back that comment, those questions, the ideas, orders, dismissals and gripes. Not a sound escaped him – only the nods and head-shakes were definitive, and exasperation or regret when he blew a tired sigh. He felt lost, here… because while he presumed to communicate, few heard what he was saying.

I hadn't, either, I realized with regret, until I had left myself wide open to reception. He communicated on a bandwidth so far from the one the rest of us used, so apart and separated from it, that hardly anyone listened to it. It was curious – looking at G'wi from a normal, traditional standpoint, one would assume almost automatically that the male was mute… but this was hardly the case at all. He spoke – that much he most definitely did. It just wasn't on a sound level the rest of us were used to. I had to wonder if he couldn't bug the crap out of a machine, like that, but though he _was_ intelligible, more or less, he wasn't precisely the easiest to select from a crowd when everyone was talking at once. I felt rather lucky that I had been idly listening to the little background noises at the precise moment he'd said something to me.

What was truly more fascinating than anything else about it, though, was how he would seemingly mouth the words, and I would hear them, but it wouldn't come through the same way – I _thought_ them as he said them, more than receiving them through a complex set of wire-thin sensory nerves and drums in the inner ear. It was almost electrical – but I knew he was speaking, because I could see his mandibles moving, if slightly. Not as much as would be necessary to form words the way I did, but they moved.

I was a little embarrassed to notice that he didn't seem to realize that difference – or that there even was one. He thought he was talking the same way I was, just like everyone else. It explained why he'd looked the way he had, back in the cell. He'd been speaking then, and I'd missed it, whatever it had been, skipping right over what he'd had to say without ever allowing myself to hear it.

If only he had his memory! Maybe, I conceded, maybe he would be a little colder, a little clammier, but the information would be there. He was older than me by at least forty years, the way he carried himself out of structure, design and habit, cried of a battle hardened warrior of perhaps even the same weal as my elder brother, Rtas. He knew a great deal, there was no question about that. He just couldn't remember any of it.

"What's the first thing you _do_ remember?" I asked, drawing his gaze back from the crowd. I peeled my attention, hoping to hear something in response.

I got lucky. "I was lost."

"Where?" I asked, probing.

"One of the ships." He replied. Either he was a male of few words, or he wasn't sure if I was hearing him, and was testing for reaction.

I felt accommodating at the time, though, so I afforded him an aloud thought as I pondered my next query. "One of the ships…?"

He nodded – but now he was paying more attention. I smiled rather smugly. I had figured him out inside of one innocent accident!

"When?" Was all I could come up with, though, dimming my swelled pride somewhat.

"I don't know. Yesterday… it was dark. Late… that or early. I got lost, and someone had to point me in another direction, where the other Guards found me." He was saying, looking at them again. "I don't think they knew what to do with me, either, though. But I did get some sleep."

"Oh." I nodded, scanning the crowd for familiar faces. One or two sifted past. "Nothing before that?"

"N… ot that I recall." He shook his head. "The whole thing is blank."

"That must be so weird." I muttered, idly counting warriors. With my almost-picture memory, I knew when the same one as before passed by, so I was pretty certain my number was accurate. "What will you do if it never comes back?"

He looked at me, suddenly, grabbing my attention off the counting. The look on his face worried me – the idea scared him. Suddenly I felt bad for mentioning it, but there was no taking it back now.

"Not… that that's what will happen…" I offered. It didn't seem to be working. He just turned his look elsewhere, holding to it. "Look… G'wi… I don't know what this means to you, but for as much as you don't remember, I know a good warrior when I see one. I won't let them throw you away if that really does happen. But just so you know, the odds of at least parts of your past coming back to you are fairly high."

"Odds." He muttered, almost scoffing. "If odds meant anything to me, I might have not been there when I lost everything."

I perked. "You remember something?"

He frowned at me. "No, and that's the point. There is _nothing_ there, Anuna. It's all gone, and I can't even recall if I had any friends… or who." He sighed, as his head drooped. He was truly exhausted, trying to pick through the curtain that separated him from who he was… who he had been. "I don't even know if I want to remember. What if I'm the one they're looking for? What if it was me, and I just got hit with a backlash of my own devising?"

"No, not even." I injected, back on solid footing. "I got the report – you were the first one to go down, and the healer claimed they had to keep you in surgery for far longer than any of the others to keep you alive. I don't think suicide was in the battle-plan for this guy… whoever he is, or was, I think he had bigger fish to fry once he was done, here."

He looked at me, again, one of those innocent, hopeful looks on his face… daring me to solidify that claim and prove his position in this mess. I couldn't – and I think he knew that, but – I was damned if I wasn't going to try. "My whole life… everything I might have worked for… it's gone, now. I don't remember any Spartans… or Prophets. Or any battles. I don't recall any training I might have gotten, or if I have a mate somewhere. If I was supposed to do something at a certain time to correlate with someone else's action elsewhere… or not. You cannot possibly grasp the sheer scale of how lost I feel."

I shook my head. "This is what you've got to work with, G'wi. Take it or leave it… but you have more prospects here than anywhere else, I'll give you that."

"I don't know you. If I ever did, I don't now. Everything must be reclaimed, rebuilt… remade. I have no sense of self. No securities, no assurances…" He looked dead at me. "No trust."

"That cannot last. You won't last long if you try to make it." I told him. "Eventually, you're going to need to invest something in someone, sooner or later."

His head bowed. "I know."

"Way I see it…" I offered, regaining his attention. "I've got nothing to lose… who knows? Maybe you'll get your memory back eventually, and if you really did have something important needing done, it'll happen before then. Have faith, brother. Even so stripped, there is much you could accomplish." I offered him my hand, and he looked at it.

"You!" Someone to our left cried, suddenly. "Commander – that's him! He's right there!" I turned, and G'wi looked past me, as we sought out the speaker. I stood up, realizing there was a healer and a ship officer heading straight for me. Or… not for me. For G'wi. He looked uncertain, at best.

"G'wi 'Caervasnee?" The Commander asked, looking at me with a puzzled expression on.

"No. I am Anuna 'Vadumee." I told him.

He nodded, the confusion gone. The name probably better matched what I looked like. Turning past me, he looked G'wi over. "And you?"

He answered – he really did. But I was feeling slightly hyper at the moment, wondering what they wanted him for and fearing it to be nothing good – so not only did he not hear it, neither did I. The 'silence' written over what he'd tried to say made the Commander don an impatient look. "I asked you a question."

"What do you intend?" I interrupted, stepping just slightly between them. "This warrior has done no wrong."

"Is he 'Caervasnee?"

"What if he is?" I responded, crossing my arms. "You are not permitted to treat him this way – nor is it wise to speak to me with that tone."

"The noble Prophet of Regret has taken control of this investigation. If that is 'Caervasnee, he is directly involved and must be transported for questioning. If he knows anything of value, it must be shared."

"He doesn't." I told him, flatly. "The gods themselves do not own enough power to change that."

He frowned at me. "Such heretical talk…" He began, but I caught him under his jaw and plucked him from the floor before slamming him into and holding him against the nearest wall.

"Never utter those words to me again, _Commander_!" I snarled. "No hell exists that holds such a fury as I will unleash upon you should you dare."

He had both hands around my wrist, staring at me with one eye, his head tilted so he couldn't see me with both. "You cannot stop the Prophet from questioning him if it is so decreed."

"And I say it would waste the Prophet's precious time!" I snapped. "He remembers nothing. He doesn't even know his own name! You will leave without him, and you will relay this news to the noble Prophet in his place."

All he could do was nod, but once he'd done that, I let him drop, and turned away, wearing my best disgusted expression as I stalked back towards where I'd left 'Caervasnee. He looked rather alarmed at me, but he didn't run – to his credit.

Turning partway, I watched as the Commander and healer left, the one looking a little pale, the other rubbing his throat, and neither looking happy with me. I didn't care – I doubted the San Shayuun could pick up on such audio frequencies G'wi used, and would cause him ill trying to make him speak – it was obvious to me that his vocals couldn't create such deepened sounds, but I knew all too well now that such information would fly right past anyone not attuned to listening for them – and they would call it disgraceful, dishonorable, shameful to refuse to answer the queries of a Prophet. I was a little at a loss, now, but if there was one thing I knew beyond any doubts now was that I had to get G'wi out of here – and bloody fast.

I sagged into my old seat, feeling a kind of weakness no healer could cure as I did so; I had just defied a Prophet's directive, and who knew what hell there would be to pay when that one came back around to me! I looked over at G'wi, shaken by my own actions.

"You enjoy that, don't you?"

I dropped my face into my hand.

_HONOR GUARD ZEALOT – G'WI 'CAERVASNEE_

Had there been a brighter day for fireworks, I certainly couldn't imagine it – remembering one such aside, due to my rather sudden lack of memory. But this one was downright _cool_. He threw his weight, and with style, punishing and correcting and sending them running with their heads ducked. Despite my alarm at the possibility of starting a fight, no one else intervened, and he left without much protest. I found myself near to tears in mirth at the situation; my companion – he called himself Anuna – looked shaken, at best.

Like he hadn't known he'd had it in him… apparently the 'Prophets'… whatever they were… had a touch more sway than the afore mentioned Councilors… which were above Honor Guards… if I had my facts straight… because the Guards guarded the Councilors and the Councilors probably counseled the Prophets… who probably answered to some other upper echelon, telling them the future in an informed manner, with foresight and counsel… it was a nifty system, really. But I didn't want to go see one on the grounds of this current situation; that it had gotten me into a brig cell was quite enough for me, thanks… but now I had another mystery to solve.

Why Anuna looked like he'd just seen his own mother dancing nude in front of all his work buddies. I didn't understand what his distress was, but I was trying valiantly not to laugh aloud… although the grin just wouldn't go away at all. Finally, I had to ask; "What's wrong?"

He looked at me again, lifting his face from his hand. "You are, G'wi."

"Me?" Well, that worked – now the grin was gone. "What did I do?"

"You're acting like a juvenile, and it's unbefitting of your station."

"I… I'm sorry." I offered. "I don't know what my station is… or what's expected of me due to its nature. Or anything." I explained. "What just happened, anyway? Aside from the part where they wanted me to go with them, and you kicked them off their pride and sent them crawling?"

His face twisted up. "The Prophet wanted you for questioning." He said. "But he'd never understand that you don't remember anything at all following your… partial recovery."

"Why?"

"The Prophet Hierarchs don't tend to take I don't know as a viable answer very often, is why, and something tells me amnesia just isn't in their vocabulary."

"Oh…" I felt sobered… and a little crushed. "So… they'll be back, won't they?" I asked.

He sighed. "Yeah, probably. With bigger clout."

"What will happen to… you?"

"I don't even know." He shook his head. "But I have a feeling it won't be pretty."

"What do you mean?" I pressed, feeling his tension.

"I mean I just defied direct orders from one of the Prophet Triumvirate. I could suffer anything from disgrace and banishment to a tortured, horrible death. It depends on how the Prophet granted my punishment is feeling that day. He might scar the honor of my House and leave it at that, but only if he's in a particularly forgiving mood. Be my luck, I'd get someone with gastro-intestinal upset."

I stared at him in utter horror for a moment before my thoughts collected again. "That's insane!"

"What?" He looked at me again. "What do you mean?"

"I meant what I said!" I told him. "That's insane! If these Prophet characters take simple rebuttal of orders as a crime punishable by death, then they all need replaced! Get rid of them, instate new – ones far more reasonable. If I gave an order, and someone like you rejected it, I'd want to bloody well know why, not turn right around and demand your execution! This is outrageous!"

His expression turned from resigned, to concerned, to downright alarmed. "G'wi! Keep your voice down! I _realize_ you haven't a clue what you are saying, or even half what it means, but I promise you this – if you speak one more word of it, I won't be able to protect you when all of _them_ come over here and disembowel you for your heresy."

"Heresy?" I asked, confused. "What do you mean by that? What's heresy got to do with a command chain?"

"Everything… and especially since the Prophets that govern us as a Covenant speak on behalf of the gods."

I gave that one my best scoff ever. "What nut job decided _that_?"

It was the last thing that came out of me that wasn't tangible. He'd stood and reached across the space between us so lightning fast that I never realized he'd moved until I hit the floor a few paces away, feeling winded and incredibly bruised. Suddenly everyone was watching… and even as I rolled onto an elbow and coughed, I could see Anuna standing back where I had been, both fists balled up tight, his expression wrenched between anger and betrayal.

I looked up at him, struck by the way he was looking at me – why was that so familiar? It haunted me, terrified me… but I didn't move.

"If you _ever_…" He was so tense he almost couldn't draw in a new breath to finish his sentence, but it was wrought more of pain than anger, and it showed in how he was beginning to tremble with the effort it took to hold back whatever tide he was considering releasing on me. "…_ever_ speak that way again… I'll kill you myself." His voice was barely a whisper.

Slowly, painfully, I peeled off the floor, feeling a rather acute spike of pain through my middle… right where that odd little bandage was stuck to me under my armor. I got back to my hooves, though, and straight, facing him. "Was what I said in err?"

He let the last of that breath slip between his teeth, all the answer I was going to get encapsulated in a single nod.

"Then I apologize… but without better understanding of how and why… do you honestly expect better of me?" I asked, spreading my hands.

His posture relaxed enough so that I was convinced he wasn't going to explode into shrapnel on me any minute now, but not enough so I was convinced he wouldn't still kill me anyway. "…no." he sighed, and turned away.

I watched as he returned to his seat, and sat wearily upon it, resting elbows on knees and his head in his hands. Poor kid… probably didn't know what to make of me any more than I did. Figuring it was as safe as anywhere else in this room, considering the entire conversation – and it's conclusion – had been witnessed by all, I stepped over, and sat back down where I had been before, too. My gaze found the floor where I had hit, as I tasted my mouth… something minute obstructed my windpipe briefly, so I gave a small cough…

Anuna looked over at me, but suddenly that odd itch in the back and bottom of my throat exploded at me, and sent me rather involuntarily into something of a coughing fit… and by the time my body let me inhale properly again, I had a handful of blood staring back at me. Anuna started in alarm, but I was already feeling lightheaded… and even as I curled my hands into fists, I felt him grab me by a shoulder, aware that if he hadn't of, I would have toppled from my seat.

Dizzy beyond reckoning, I didn't understand a word spoken to me, but through the blur of sudden and frenzied motion, I knew I was being taken from the room we all had been pushed into, and to somewhere else. I could feel my blood pooling in my lungs, but even as I sagged against those holding me from the floor, I jerked against them in coughing spasms throughout the relatively short trip.

Once again I found myself in the care of a healer – this one stationed to a post there at High Charity. I was stripped of my armor one more time, and sent through some odd combination of mechanical treatments where the flooding in my lungs was cleared, and I found I could actually breathe again while they all decided that despite having already placed me inside an isolation block, I was not, indeed, contagious with anything.

Looking through the glass wall at the three observing Honor Guards, I placed a hand on it, trying to remember if I deserved this fate. Anuna was the only one to step forward, and he put his own hand opposite the glass from mine, in the same area. It was like a partial farewell, partial good luck… and even as the one healer approached with something I was sure I wouldn't like much, I felt it was also a don't be gone too long.

He was so young… so devoted. Yet somehow also open minded enough to be understanding. I realized what the drug was that the healer had just administered when I felt the world starting to fade… and I hit him for it, sending him crashing through a table of equipment. His fellow healers rushed to his aid, but I fought them all off in a sudden rush of panic and adrenalin-fueled rage. I wanted out, but in the end all I did was collapse, though not for the sedative; because my breached lungs had flooded again and denied me air. The healers won, at that point, getting me down and onto a table where they wanted me, though I figured the cuffing was because of my recent antic… and their lack of interest in more of the same.

My next memory revolved around a blurry collection of images, snippets of sound, and vague flashes of light as the overheads were moved accordingly with the healers' needs. When it all cleared, I was still tied to that table, but I could breathe. Not as deeply as I would have liked, but I could breathe, and clearly. It didn't take long for someone who wasn't a healer wanting to know if I was feeling any pain to appear… but I could have guessed who it would be.

"You look absolutely horrible." Anuna commented. "I had heard you often cheated death by millimeters, but this…" He sighed, "this is my fault, actually. I shouldn't have hit you. I knew you had only just recovered from surgery, but… how do you feel?"

"I'm tied down, doped out and cut to shreds. How do you _think_ I should feel?" I mumbled, still feeling rather euphoric for all the odd measures of painkillers I had been given. Apparently I had ruptured something… and they'd just done more surgery.

"I'm sorry." Anuna repeated. "I didn't mean for this."

"No one ever does, kid." I told him. "Let it go."

"The Prophet has been appraised of your… condition. He's rescinded his order to have you brought for questioning. At least, I suppose… until he learns you've healed enough to withstand the stress."

I just grunted, unable to give a damn one way or the other.

"Look, I know you're mad at me. I over reacted, I shouldn't have hit you, and it wasn't my place to accuse you of heresy. I was wrong… I didn't… for a moment, I thought… I forgot you didn't know."

I bared my teeth at him. "Don't make me hurt you, kid. I said let it go."

He just smiled at me. "Well, at least you still have some fight left in you, even after all this."

"What's going to happen to the dead Councilor?" I asked.

"Oh, him… last I heard, the Council was going to convene on the evidence before any decisions were made… especially since it has been recognized that their primary witness has no memory of the events to which he was supposedly witness… that's you. The Prophet of Regret is going to be there."

"Why'd he call himself that?" I drawled.

"What? Who called who what?"

"The Prophet… of Regret…" I giggled weirdly. "I'd regret calling myself that, too."

Anuna gave a small, nervous laugh. "I don't know."

"What about you?"

"Me?"

"You were going to die horribly, remember?" I asked.

"Oh, that." He scratched at the side of his head for a moment. "I think it was dismissed or something… that or filed away for later. But I haven't heard anything at all about it." He inhaled deeply, then added, "Yet."

"Hey, can I beg a favor of you?"

"You dishonor us both just by implying I would refuse." Anuna told me. "Anything."

"Untie me, and get me out of here."

He gave a start. "But you are too weak to be moved!"

"If I get one more dose of anesthetic, I'm going to flip." I told him. "I can't feel my extremities… and everything is all tingly and weird."

"Oh, Forerunners, why me?" He moaned, but he proceeded as directed, unfastening my bindings to set me free. Loose of them, I did manage to pull my own carcass off the table, but I knew before I tried that I couldn't walk. I looked imploringly at Anuna, for help, and he obligingly pulled one of my arms across his shoulders to support me as he helped me out of the medical bay. "Where do you want me to take you?" He asked, straining under my superior weight.

"Somewhere where the healers don't wake you up every fifteen to ask if you got any sleep." I prompted, feeling extreme vertigo from going from prone to vertical so fast – even though it had been no faster than my rising from the last bed I'd lain in, back on that ship. Damn… I didn't even know what the ship was called.

True to his word, Anuna did find me a quarter, and he deposited me in it, but then he left me there, so I dozed off, finally in enough peace and comfort to obtain good rest. Lord knows my innards all felt like scrambled eggs, but it was yet to be determined if they be cooked or raw scrambled eggs. At the time, I doubted I cared, though, even as I let go of the maddening world I lived in, in favor of the maddening one I dreamt in.

He was a good kid, Anuna was, and I didn't want to hurt him, but I had the sinking feeling that if he stuck around me for too long he would either become scarred and bitter or very dead rather fast. He deserved neither.

_HONOR GUARD ZEALOT – ANUNA 'VADUMEE_

He was a mess – exhausted, wounded, bereft of memory of self. It had to be a rough existence, going through all this while suffering amnesia. But he seemed to sag onto the bed happily enough, and for a moment of peace for a tired old male, I would be satisfied. He had begun to look to me for support, turning to me each time he came upon a question, something he had no reaction or answer for. I was like his backup reserve, and if I disappeared I knew the poor fellow would suffer all the more.

Gods, the more time went by the more I prayed fervently that I had not been on his hit list – because if I was helping him back to his feet only to get aced for my trouble, I would be one very unhappy warrior when the gods came for my soul. There was unfair, which was Caervasnee's situation, and then there was downright _wrong_, which would be the one I just outlined.

I got about three corridors put behind me and then I got jumped.

"Vadum'!"

"Forerunners!" I shrieked, recoiling. "Don't _do_ that to me! I almost killed you!" The admonishment was a weak one, admittedly, but it got the new arrival to back up a respectable step.

"Vadum', the Prophets have sent for 'Akaendea. He said he wanted you in attendance and we've all been wondering where you've been."

I nodded, then, as my usual calm was allowed to reinstate itself. "Alright, let's go, then. Next time someone sends you after me, though, don't jump me like some crazy Kig-yar high on too much drink. You'll get yourself killed, one of these days."

We made the span to the place where my charge could be found in good time, and while he looked as though he might have liked to say something to me, I didn't get the opportunity to hear it, because directly after my arrival we were whisked away to the presence of the Prophet.

He, for some reason not immediately evident, was in the Mausoleum of the Arbiter. It was a cavernous chamber, that, and a little creepy to the likes of me, but for the Prophets it was a convenient staging ground for some dramatic ovation. The Prophet holding position near the Armor Pod was about as quiet as I had seen one be, though, and he hovered there in utter silence as we approached.

At the conclusion of our approach, we each kneeled respectively, 'Akaendea made his traditional respective greeting, and then we all straightened, to face down whatever the Prophet felt inclined to present us with.

"Councilor, I am told you have drawn your conclusions about your fellow." The Prophet intoned, quietly so he didn't echo.

"I have, Noble Hierarch. My remaining brethren and I have determined the truth of the matter. This… is… not why you summoned me?"

"Quite so." He turned slightly, hovering away about the span of a pace before stopping again. "Do you notice something odd about this chamber, Councilor?"

I perked my head, suddenly aware the Prophet was really on to something – and it had little or nothing at all to do with our current situation. Quickly I scanned for anomalies, hoping to be quick enough to spot it before the Prophet had a chance to say it.

"I… do not, Excellency. Why?" 'Akaendea responded.

Finding nothing immediately obvious, I started at the top and began to count the coffins. Ten, twenty, thirty, forty…

"I had missed it myself, for the most part, until one of the Unggoy in charge of the care and cleaning of this chamber approached me with a curiosity." The Prophet continued. I counted faster. "You see, he had not heard that a new Arbiter had been created this Age… and yet one more of the nodes was active." He extended a long, bony arm, pointing at the offending node. Its green indicator light shone exactly the same as all its brethren, yet even as I reached my concluding number I realized the Prophet was right.

"Was there one, though?" 'Akaendea asked, puzzled. "I was not aware…"

"Nor was I." The Prophet hissed, his tone displeased. "So if no one knows of this… phantom Arbiter… how did he come to be, how was he created, what consumed him, what crisis did he address and avert? What great deed did we all so blatantly miss?" He floated slightly back towards us.

"I… have no answer, Noble one." Was all 'Akaendea could offer. "I was not informed of any creation or intent to create another Arbiter. As… as far as I am aware, the greatest cause of distress to date is the unknown cause of the death of a Councilor. But an Arbiter is not needed for such a task as tracing the facts, elusive though they may be."

The Prophet steepled his fingers. "Ah, and the primary witness lay dying at our feet, his very breath laden with the blood of his House. You please me with your honesty, Councilor." 'Akaendea nodded only, in response. "But I am most displeased in that I lack such fundamental information about the very foundations of defense for this Holy Covenant I govern. Truth…"

I tensed.

"… did not know to what I referred." He finished. "I plan to have the node unsealed, to determine who it is, that dares foul this holy place with an unworthy corpse."

'Akaendea closed his hands before him, and bowed, shallowly. "I shall relay the command myself, Holy Prophet. Your will be done."

"Pray it is no one you know, Councilor, and that this crime does not trace to you." The Prophet turned, and drifted away to the far exit. 'Akaendea sighed, watching him go.

"That was… disturbing."

I looked at my fellow Guard, then at 'Akaendea. There had been no entourage with the Prophet, but at the other side of the doors he passed, nearly a contingent waited to escort him away – likely off High Charity to traverse to somewhere. I admit I was startled, though, when 'Akaendea turned to look at me.

"What do you make of this?"

I shook my head, as confused as the Councilor before me. "I have no answers, Councilor, I cannot help you." He started to respond, when I inhaled, and added, "But…" and stopped his response shy. He cocked his head, listening again. "But," I continued, "I do know how to get a pod to open, so you do not need to summon any Engineer away from doubtless a more pressing task. Shall I… proceed?"

'Akaendea appeared to think this over before nodding, but it was a small nod – the kind he gave when it was a between-you-and-me type of situation. If he wanted someone else to know I could open Stasis Pods in the Mausoleum, then he would tell them himself. Taking a breath, and my courage in both hands, I curled them into fists and led my companions across the floor to the wall where the offending pod glowed phosphorescent, defiant of all credence or code. It was, blessedly, one of the row at chest level, as there were quite a number of past Arbiters. The ceiling really wasn't that high, and when one thought about it the room wasn't that big, but it still held a goodly number of bodies. This one was about to be exposed to the deterioration of oxygen, which was said to speed decay. I touched the locking mechanism, manipulating it so it responded the way I wanted it to, then when it hissed at me and slid from the wall, I moved to the seal bar, where a code panel glowed a friendly violet against the hard weapons' grade steel the pod was made of.

I held my breath the whole while I was cracking into the thing, well aware that I really had no business being capable of this, and working up a case of nerves because I was under surveillance – more so because it was 'Akaendea watching me, and not just any old partner in crime.

Finally, after a harrowing amount of time that I honestly cannot believe could have been that long, the pod seal depressurized, and broke, splitting down the sides and parting in its own mechanized fashion. I only realized I had rested my hand on it when it pinched the shit out of the heel of my hand, and I jerked it away with a scowl and a hiss, before waving my hand to ease the pain of the pinch. That part I regret the most.

Somehow, whilst waving, I smacked my fingers off another control panel, and somehow also, it charged an electric line, so the whole pod I had just opened got the shock of its life and a spark jumped to me, jolting my own daylights and making me squeak.

"Forerunners, 'Vadumee!" 'Akaendea caught me by my shoulders, and held me steady. "You didn't say there was a security device on them."

"I…" My vision swam for a heartbeat before I blinked clarity back into it. "… didn't know about that part, sir…"

"Easy, there." He let me be, and stepped past me, to wave at the preservative fog that hung over the cradle of the interior of the pod. I had just begun to step back forward again when I saw 'Akaendea start as if in shock. "By the Prophets!" He swore, aloud.

I leaned forward, to see in, and felt my mandibles spread wide.

Holy _shit_.


	3. Sonata In F Sharp

**3; Sonata in F Sharp**

_SPARTAN 093 – FLINT _

I felt as if I were floating on a cloud of vapor, buoyant and lost, drifting between reality and dream but never able to reach for either. The feeling was entirely mental – if I had a physical anymore, I couldn't find it. I had just regained enough sense to start putting one and one together in such a cohesive fashion as to get two, but the only thing I could recall with any clarity was the expression on that damned Elite's face as he stood there, doing nothing at all, just watching me die…

Wait… whoa. Die? I was dead? Oh, no. If I was dead, then Humanity had likely seen it happen, and now they were one shy a Spartan, meaning they all felt that 117 was the last available of my creed – because poor Kelly was little more than DOA when she'd reached the _Autumn_.

Where the _Autumn_ was now was anyone's guess, but if John couldn't get some form of act together out there and put the parts back where they belonged, then he and I were in the same boat. Dead, and somewhere alien for our troubles. I would have sighed, had I the capability, but the part I remember with painstaking clarity was that I was in the middle of testing if I could find my body enough to tell it to breathe when the whole world I knew of came to an explosive halt… and suddenly the physical came screaming back at me, all at once, and all I felt was agony.

I couldn't inhale, it hurt so much, as everything was constricted and cramped up, the tension building to unbelievable levels before I could convince anything to free up and relax. My mouth was dry as bones and I couldn't taste anything because of it, but I surprised myself in that I could feel each of my teeth and the ridges in the roof of my mouth rather acutely… the tongue was always said to be a sensitive thing, but until then it had always been taste-prone and feeling came as a distant second. Right then, my swallow reflex was shot, though, and my eyes were watering so bad I wondered if salivation hadn't moved up an orifice or something.

Finally, working my jaw loose, I heard a faint, anemic thud in my head. At first I thought someone had hit my helmet, and fought to see through my visor to tell if it was a field medic trying to make me respond, but then it happened again, this time in tune to the awful pounding pain up there. My whole cranium exploded in the worst headache I had ever had, at about the same time I recognized that I was blind.

Blind… for a moment the idea dominated, until a striation lanced across what I was presuming was my vision, and it dawned on me what that distant thumping was, right as a third one choked through, a weak background noise at best.

That was my heartbeat.

Slowly, little by little, the pieces fell into place. The electrical shock I had received at what I presumed was an altar of some kind had stopped it, effecting a kind of coma over the rest of me as my body fought between shock and shutdown. Somehow, in return, I had then received another one, of something either equal or greater in power, to restart the thing, but for all it was beating again, it seemed lethargic, weak… strained. I could barely muster the strength to blink, but even as the blood began to push through my veins again and my headache ebbed, a smidgen of sight worked its way through and I was able to focus on my savior… had I the strength, I would have twisted the bastard's head right off his miserable neck!!

Another of those damned Elites stood staring down at me, but I had known my pet alien for long enough to know that this one… oh, hey. These two, correction. That these two were not him. One spoke to the other, decrying himself as most definitely not him, and then the other responded in kind – no, if both of these could speak, then my initial impression was correct, and I was in more shit than I could ever recall.

Fire dominated my nerves, every blasted one of them that I owned, but it was all constant and more or less equal throughout, so after only a few minutes my natural response shut them all out, and it became a numb throb behind my heart. It was picking up some speed, but had I been merely out of it, I knew at this point it ought to have been racing, and I wondered briefly if that was the only thing keeping it going as slow as it was – that adrenalin had dumped into my system almost as soon as my vision had returned, and the self-inflicted medication had stimulated an otherwise fading pulse to continue.

It hurt, it all hurt, but I felt like I had been stowed in cryo… there was no feeling quite like cryo thaw, and even if one had to scream one's misery the feeling could not be denied, because while it wasn't easily described as pain, it certainly could work a body's nerves… tingly, more like. I forced my first breath, and heard the filters hiss, choked and had to suffice with near motionless coughing as I fought to free up my airway the only way I knew how – by forcing more air down it.

This was rather difficult to do, all things considered, when the one thing that commanded airflow in and out was the one thing that wasn't responding. I had to gulp air, and then try to make myself swallow it while commanding my inhalation to function. Finally, a second breath, wheezing, went in. _Thud-thud_.

The first complete heartbeat filled my ears, and for the first time in my entire life I could feel the blood pulsing up the veins in my throat. It was macabre, to me, but it was also oddly invigorating – to feel my own life slowly coming back to me, as each part of me started to come back online and then report in, resuming prior duty as it ought. The thrill in that I was alive at all held me in thrall, and I fought for another breath. Just one more, just one more… all I wanted more than anything was just one more breath, I just needed to breathe, and if I could get my air in, then I was going to be okay. I inhaled hard, spreading my ribcage all the way open, filling both lungs to capacity. _Thud-thud_.

Speed… function was speeding up. Soon animation would become possible, but just that I had managed to work myself up from barely revived at all to this point was remarkable. Had I been in a conventional Human hospice, I would doubtless have received more than just the one shock to restart my stalled heart. Fortunately, my augmentation allowed for a much wider margin of error, and with the one I had gotten – and lord only knew why or how it had been procured or applied, considering my location – I was now well on my way to a full recovery.

Now… if I could just survive at their mercy for long enough to get mobile enough to grab a gun… oh, I'd survived worse, I surmised, but coming back from the dead was really a new one, and I had to admit, it was not the most pleasant resurrection I'd imagined.

_HONOR GUARD ZEALOT – ANUNA 'VADUMEE_

At first my brain denied what my eyes saw. How in all hell had a _Spartan_ gotten into the Mausoleum?? But slowly things pieced together as the Councilor beside me just stared in numb shock. Oh, how interesting the pieces fell, as I realized now the ends to a means I had only ever seen the beginning of.

The recording stopped shy of the smoke ceasing, but I had been among the viewers at the actual event – having been in-system with 'Akaendea at the time – and I had seemingly been the only soul to stand there watching until there was nothing left to see – I had wondered why 'Caervasnee had bothered to pluck the Spartan from his place himself, and carry his body away, but it had never occurred to me to wonder where he thought he was going. That the event was several months ago startled me. Still, why place one of the hated enemy here with the honored fallen of our own? More so still, with the _Arbiters_ that had fallen? The curious Assassin-Guard's air of mystery renewed for me.

'Akaendea finally managed to tear his eyes away, and looked at me. "What meaning is this heresy? Who put this vermin here??" He demanded, as if I would know. His voice had a rasp to it, his countenance still shaken.

I was about to reply when I realized that I did. But he didn't know that. "I don't know, sir." Was all I gave him. "Would it interest you to know that an Imperial Admiral was killed here in this very room the night of the Spartan's execution?"

The information smote like a revelation. 'Akaendea looked honestly stunned. "I… I was not informed…"

"Neither was I… I looked it up when I recognized a different system of command rippling through the ranks." I continued. "I didn't say anything because I assumed you knew."

He gave me a critical eye. "What else don't I know? Who is hiding these things from me? I've a right to know! Tell me more."

I shrank a little, startled that 'Akaendea would be so angry… it was just a Spartan, and a dead one at that. "I don't… where do you want me to start, sir?"

'Akaendea gave pause for thought, before motioning for the other two guards attending him to pull the Human out of the pod. As they did so, he turned back to me. "Who could have gotten the Spartan this far into High Charity – dead or not – without someone seeing them?"

"My guess is the Admiral saw, sir. Which is why he was killed." I responded, watching as my brothers-at-arms exchanged their burden from both to one so the other could then close the pod. To all extents and purposes, it was a limp Human indeed. Absently, I rubbed my elbow, still able to feel the tingling and burning the electric shock had rendered. "Although how it came to be consolidated within a single witness would lead me to assume it happened after hours, at which point the only ones on duty would be the Unggoy, cleaning up after the day's close."

'Akaendea nodded his head in agreement. "And it is never easy getting Unggoy to talk when they are frightened…"

"And there exists no Sangheili of whom they are not frightened." I added, glancing at him. "Councilor, if I may… I do recall seeing 'Caervasnee that day… I did not know who he was at the time, but it did puzzle me then why he would bother to take the Human down from the cuffs and take him away personally…"

'Akaendea gave me a look I found disturbing. "What madness is that?" He asked. "Why would an honored member of the Honor Guard disgrace the halls of the Arbiter so with such filth as this Human, whom he saw to the death of _personally_??"

I could only shrug. "I have no idea, sir, I really cannot say." I looked back at the Spartan in time to spot something oddly amiss before anything else outlandish could happen – the 'dead' Human had somehow gotten one of their swords into his hand, and in the instant he was dropped off to one side, he curled right back off the floor in a calculated motion that speared the Guard on the left through the hearts. He gave a pained gasp before collapsing, but my other fellow only got to parry three of the following strokes before he was caught by his wrist and turned, and then his head was severed completely in a following stroke.

'Akaendea stood staring slack-jawed in shock. I powered on my own blade, and growled, warning the Human to stay back. If he was good enough to down two inside a heartbeat, he was dangerous. More so that he'd made more than a million and a half Covenant think he was dead. He turned that convex golden visor at me, looking as though he were sizing me up. But he seemed to waver, and for all his attempt not to he eventually sagged to his knees, and sat on his heels in defeat. Puzzled, I cocked my head. If he hadn't been dead… was he then wounded somehow?

'Akaendea would have none of this, though, and his commanding voice cut through my thoughts. "Kill it! And this time you cut it's bastard head off and put it somewhere separate!"

I took a breath… if 'Caervasnee truly had been privy to this Spartan's survival, he would likely be the next one on my blade… and that hurt. To think how much I had put into preserving that Zealot only to lead to this… but heretics didn't turn a different color than the rest of us when they lost faith, and were often hard to imagine as they were.

Steeling myself for what might come, I stalked closer to the Spartan, aware infinitely how he could still be fooling with me. Cautiously, I paused just outside of lunge range, and raised my sword between us. He didn't immediately react, but it seemed a calculated wait – he was biding his time, and when I got close he would probably gut me too. I had to exercise all forms of caution and ware with this one.

I took a grenade from my belt, and primed it, but though the sharp glow didn't hardly affect me, the Spartan sighted on it, then looked up at my face. Like he meant something… communicatory. The span was easily closed, but he only got close enough to snag my hand – and I hissed as I felt the plasma fusing to my palm inside his own grip as it crunched down. I snarled at him, and drew back my blade, but it was met point-on by his, and I felt the hot sizzle of the split blades surround my own sword hand. While a precarious position to be in indeed, he couldn't cut me without cutting himself, and vice versa. I pulled on my grenade hand, but his grip was incalculably strong. Twisting, I disengaged my sword from his, but it left me wide open and he didn't hesitate to spin his own down and towards my chest. Taking his focus on queue, I seized control of the grenade half of our equation and smacked him in the helm with his own fist. His blade grazed my armor and killed my shields, but I was mostly unharmed. Seeing his own shields flare disheartened my attack, but it had saved me, and now I was nolonger wide open or vulnerable. I brought my blade down to cut through his shoulder at the neck, and met with a swift parry that sent my cut out wide. I brought it down and over, but again he blocked my strike.

If we continued like this, we would both die when the grenade finally went off. I hammered his blade with mine, he parried with all the deft determination of one who hated to die in a losing battle. Finally, I caught the inside of the top blade on his sword, and it plucked from his grasp and flung across the room. Striking the floor, it deactivated with a _poof_ and hiss before rolling to a stop. He didn't waste any time, though, in embedding his fist in my throat, causing me to gag and stagger backwards, barely remembering to hold onto my own blade.

He took my wrist, and forced my arm between us, but I caught hold of my own before he'd quite made me to cut my own hand off. That was close… I snarled at him, but as a Spartan it was either impossible or against his edict to make any noise at all in reply. He just stared at me in silence from behind his golden visor, but my eyes widened in fear when I heard the grenade whine down, and grow ominously quiet. We now had exactly three seconds to say our prayers. Desperate, I yanked away from him, but all he did was use my motion to bring up his feet, and he planted them both in my gut and kicked hard. While it separated us, I was the one with the grenade fused to my hand. I was about to give in and slice it off myself when the device suddenly lost its glow, and simmered. Hissing, I pried it out of the muscle of my palm, and let it roll away.

I looked at the Spartan. What in god's names had he done to diffuse the grenade like that? He'd piled up and looked to be suffering in his own way for some reason, though, but my gaze was drawn in the other direction when I heard a muffled gargle and a collapsing thud on the floor where 'Akaendea was supposed to be. Horrified in seeing that it was indeed the Councilor who had dropped – and was now spreading in a pool of his own blood – I looked up past him to stare in disbelief at the Elite holding the sword.

"Anuna." He said, almost surprised.

The look in those golden eyes told me volumes – that he had found his past was evident. He knew who he was now, and he remembered me. How or what had invoked those buried memories to surface was a mystery, but such questions were far from my consciousness at the moment. Fear crept into my soul as what he'd done sank in. "You… you killed 'Movashdea."

He gave me one of those informed, sour looks one gets when impatience with a lack of facts becomes evident. He stalked past me, though, letting me live, and stopped in front of the Spartan. It was the oddest thing… at first there was nothing, as the two just stared at one another, before the Spartan – gasp – spoke.

"You miserable bastard." He accused.

'Caervasnee just laughed, and put down a hand, which the Spartan took and used to help him to his feet. "I had not realized you were alive."

The Spartan was looking at me, now, but for some reason 'Caervasnee stopped him when he started to step forward.

Turning to see me again, the traitorous Zealot regarded me for a moment. "Yes, I killed the Councilor. As it was deeply evident, he deserved nothing less."

"Why 'Akaendea?" I begged, starting to crawl to my hooves.

"Ah, him. For the same reason, I would expect, that the Admiral could not be tolerated. Your beloved Covenant is sick, Anuna. As much as it pains you to know, it is the truth… you must know, else you would have killed me the first time you heard me speak."

"You had no memory of what you were saying!" I cried, distressed.

"Hm. Perhaps not then. But I remember you from before then."

"You didn't speak then."

"I did." 'Caervasnee stepped forward. "But no one was wise as you to know to listen."

HERETIC – G'WI 'CAERVASNEE

He looked frightened of me – that he thought I was something I was not became clear in that he was trying to keep me at a distance, yet was unwilling to outright flee my presence in that he hoped to either sway my place or at least remove me from it through death… but I was shaken myself. I swore to myself that my eyes had not lied when I saw the Spartan die. How he now lived was beyond me – but he was his usual self, accusatory, ungrateful and hostile while minding his manners for the most part. He was a strange Human… although how I thought he wouldn't be found here was of some note to me. I amended the thought with the idea that I had probably not thought about that far ahead at the time… which I couldn't be blamed for, when later injury robbed me of memory for a time.

I was still slightly off my balance, but within the span of a night in which I couldn't sleep, things had begun to fall back into place. Sorting through a lifetime's worth of memory and putting it all back into place and in order had been confusing – but right now, even though I wasn't quite sure I recalled just how I had found the damned Human to begin with, one thing that was very clear was the part where we had come together and fought, parted ways, and then how I had used him… and gained a position I quickly found I didn't want.

High Councilor 'Movashdea was testament to that. I wanted, and needed, out. But Anuna wasn't just another witness – he'd been the first among millions to bother to learn to listen to me, and he heard what I had to say. In my hour of need, he was the one that helped me keep my feet. For what little honor remained me, I couldn't just leave him like that. I couldn't just kill him, too.

The Spartan behind me wanted to kill him. I debated doing it myself… but in the end Anuna didn't deserve any such fate. From either of us. That he was loyal to the wrong end of my world was immaterial. He'd been there, stuck his neck out for me. Kept me from my own end, one I might have met without even knowing. Lessons learned the hard way seemed to be my specialty. Yet they were mine – may perhaps a little of the Spartan's… but not Anuna's. The kid had only just come up in the world, and was still discovering what it meant to be in the middle of the biggest mess anyone could imagine.

"Are you going to kill me too?" He asked.

I shook my head.

"Why? What are you going to do, then? How can you stand there, and let that Human live?"

"Anuna, perhaps in time you will come to understand what it means to be at the receiving end of misfortune, but for now, attached to your innocence, you cannot hope to understand. For years I toiled under the boots of everyone else. Years, Anuna. No one listened to a word I said – often accused me of refusing to speak with them. I was scorned with the worst of them. And this Spartan changed that – for a long time I thought that this was what I wanted, until I got here. 'Movashdea hated me. He made that much plain – he threatened to kill me simply for looking at you. You! Do you realize how petty that is? I don't care what station or status he held. He was despicable and had no honor. But you know what I learned, Anuna, in all my short months of occupation here as an Honor Guard?"

He shook his head.

"I can't go back. Not that I especially want to. But it was a far cry better than being here, among the worst of them. Strutting around giving themselves airs, pretending to be better than the rest of us. Many of them were _born_ to their places! It was not earned! You, at least, you and your ilk, you bothered to play the game how it was designed, and you earned what you gained. You truly hold to your faith, you truly deserve your honor. Yours are a dying breed, Anuna, remember that. You're a good kid… and as old and bitter as I have become, I do not wish my ill fortune upon you. You helped me when I was down. You listened when no one else would. No, Anuna, I'm not going to kill you… and if that means you raising an alarm that ultimately gets me killed shy of departure…" I sighed. "Do as you must. No one here has ever done anything different than just that."

He looked surprised. "You…?"

"I'm not a monster, Anuna. I merely live for ideals no one else holds." I cast a look over my shoulder at the Spartan, and he cocked his head at me.

"Are you actually _saying_ anything to him?" He asked.

To put it as bluntly as I could, I nodded.

He seemed to give that thought. "Huh."

"He doesn't hear you, 'Caervasnee." Anuna decided. "How can you hope to get far at all when you cannot even communicate with the majority of those you encounter?"

I shrugged. "I have lasted this long."

His expression darkened. "Not as a Heretic."

The words struck me as profound… and sharp. He was either threatening me, or was expressing that he was disappointed in me, had expected fanaticism befitting my title – that of a zealot. I could only shake my head, and sigh. "Do you think I'm a heretic?"

The question, despite being in direct relation to what he had only just decided to accuse me of, gave him pause. "I…"

"What have I betrayed, if I have never been fully accepted as one of them?"

He stumbled over a word, didn't bother to try to say it again. "G'wi, you're asking for your execution." It sounded like a plead.

"I know."

"No one knew it was you until you came in here… and _told_ me."

I felt myself smile, but it was a sad expression indeed. "Can you keep a secret?"

He choked. "G'wi, this isn't about me!"

"Isn't it? If I kill you, you can't tell them who did this. You can't tell them how there was a Spartan in the Mausoleum, and how he killed two of your fellows before your Councilor was killed. You can't tell them it was me. But I would also lose the one soul who ever bothered to hear me out, the one warrior among the millions I have crossed paths with who was a friend to me. If I kill you, Anuna, all this will go away. I can go wherever I want to – possibly after a short visit with a Prophet, I could leave. But if I let you live, you are then pressed with the dilemma of either informing the Hierarchs all about everything I have done since my instatement as an Honor Guard here in High Charity, or you can keep your mouth shut… although for as much as I owe you, you owe me nothing. You see, Anuna, this _is_ about you."

"Only because you stopped shy of completion." He answered. "I don't know you."

"You never did, Anuna."

"Who are you? Why have you done these things? What pushed you over that edge? Or are you following some hidden sect of hierarchs and are following orders of some kind, to erase the High Council?"

I shook my head again. "For as much as I have done… I have orders from no one. If I was told to do something, I missed it, and may possibly get in trouble later for a job not done. I don't claim to know how you think, Anuna, but I've been around you for long enough to know how you draw conclusions under stress. I'm alone. The most I have right now is that Spartan… who for all intents and purposes I swear I thought was dead. How did you revive him, by the way?"

He seemed to give that some serious thought, before absently rubbing an elbow. My eyes traced to the wall near the pod I had put the Human into, then back again. Ah… practically the same element that had ended him, to bring him back. Humans were such odd creatures! I looked back at the Spartan, who looked from Anuna to me, back to Anuna, then back at me again.

"What?"

"It must have been the shock… I caught my elbow on a contact or something after I opened the pod. My arm is still tingly." Anuna offered.

I nodded, my mandibles curling into a smile.

"G'wi." The Spartan said. I looked at him. "Your name is G'wi?"

"I will never understand you, 'Caervasnee." Anuna sighed. "You're as much a mystery to me now as you were the day I first saw you."

"When was that?" I asked.

"The day he died." He pointed an accusing finger at the Spartan, who didn't even flinch. Although I suspected that had he had a gun, Anuna would have caught a magazine load about then. "I saw you carry him away. Like he was someone special… and you put him here, in the Mausoleum of the Arbiter. Why, 'Caervasnee? What deed did he perform to so deserve that honor? This is a sacred place!"

"He what?" The Spartan choked. "I think I'm still dead – I cannot possibly be hearing this right."

"You weren't there. He didn't kill my squad – his crashing fightercraft did. He buried Welav 'Dedekilee under the resulting wreckage. I was the only one that survived the impact, and he only survived because I pulled his carcass out of the ship before its fuel reserves ruptured and detonated. I was all alone out there, abandoned to a useless patrol in an unoccupied valley on a planet we had claimed in a battle weeks ago. The last of the Human occupation came down from orbit – orbit! He and I were all we had to keep one another sane for the next month as I tried to find where the cruiser had put down."

Anuna looked past me, then, for the first time not seeing the Spartan in anger or contempt. He looked genuinely curious.

"And at the killing… the pylons… maybe he doesn't hear what I say, but he listened when it mattered, and he understood when it counted. Can you claim similar? You know nothing of what you claim to profess in. Humans… how can you believe they are a manifestation of evil? Do you witness now this one taking arms against me? Evil takes no sides, makes no compromises. Learns from no one."

"How am I to know it is not you who has been made blind?" Anuna asked, his tone almost pleading. "I do not claim to know the Human – or his reasoning. But you… you I thought I understood, at least in part. You're one of _us_, G'wi."

"If I was one of you, I would not be here today, as I stand, accused so of heresy." I turned away, motioned at the Spartan, and headed for the door. If Anuna wanted to stay behind, Anuna was welcome to do so. But I knew I couldn't – I had to get out, because now that I'd dared to leave a crumb trail, I had to part with it, and I couldn't tell Anuna or anyone where I was going. I heard the Spartan's boots behind me, and felt reminiscent of our time trekking across the watered-out wasteland of that planet where Welav 'Dedekilee had died.

"You could have said it nicer, you know." I heard the Spartan say. The comment gave me pause, and I turned back to look at him. "By the way he looked at you." He elaborated, explaining how he knew how I had said what I'd said.

Damn. There went that theory.

_HONOR GUARD ZEALOT – ANUNA 'VADUMEE_

A thousand thoughts and feelings welled up inside my head all at once. Betrayal and abandonment not the least among them all, but somehow it all seemed justified, even though the concept of such a thing sounded alien to me. I had gotten the feeling that I needed to get him out a while ago – without knowing why, I had sat still, bided my time. Now I knew… but it still didn't quite all fit. That G'wi hadn't known his Spartan wasn't dead was a new one. I had thought he would have been privy to that, but that I had jolted him back to life with the same shock that had highlighted my own life for a moment there did seem credible.

It sure had hurt like enough hell…

Still, one arm from the elbow down burning like electrical fire, the other hand scorched and in fiery pain, my guts roiling in agonized protest from impact trauma, and my throat sore from being punched, I jerked from my lean against the pillar that held the wall, and I lurched after them, staggering. "Wait… wait." I begged.

I met G'wi at the door, attempting to speak, but he just pulled my grenade-scorched arm over his shoulder, and helped me to walk as he made his own way to wherever it was he meant to go.

That I had for some reason decided to throw my lot in with them rather than playing the part of their accuser and getting them killed shy of escape reeled in my head for some time, but for as much as one Honor Guard holding another off the floor turned heads, no one said a word to us – I wondered where the Spartan had gone, noting how no one was raising alarm at spotting him, but he proved nowhere to be found.

It took me until we reached a craft bay and found a Phantom to hide in to figure out where the Human was; right beside G'wi, and he shimmered under the colored light as he faded into view. Slipping past, he settled into the cockpit, while G'wi strapped me in for the ride.

I watched as he moved up to the copilot's chair, settling in almost as if the Spartan were one of ours – another Sangheili – and saying something to him that I didn't quite catch. Right then all I knew was how much I wanted to be sick all over the Phantom's floor. I held it in, miraculously, but the thought that the engines firing up and running might make it worse proved false – instead the smooth vibration served to settle my roiling innards, oddly enough, and after only a few minutes I was feeling much better. My throat was still sore, but though most of the feeling had returned to my right arm, the tingly burning sensation persisted in the palm of my right hand. Turning it, I committed the next hour to the study of the wound, well knowing that there had been nothing wrong with my grenades, and wondering why it hadn't gone off… at the least it should have snapped my arm off and burned my face.

It hadn't even detonated… I had never, _never_ seen a grenade fizzle before. The familiar transitory hum of going from atmosphere to vacuum swallowed our ride, and I looked up to see when a motion got my attention. 'Caervasnee walked past me, removing his Guard's cape as he went. He stowed the thing in a small hatch compartment, and took something else out before turning back to me, taking my upturned hand and applying a healing salve to the palm.

"Why didn't it go off, G'wi?" I asked, curiously.

He looked at me. "I told it not to."

I met his gaze, then, closing my fingers into a fist. "You told it?"

"Each grenade has an electronic diode detonator that unseals the pressurized plasma coil. I told it not to unseal."

"How?" I asked, interested and intrigued. "You really can talk to receptive electronics?"

"It's a language I have only a sketchy command of, but yes…" He nodded. "You make noises, and so do computers. You have to make the right computer noise to get any response or it just takes what you say as random segments of code and they get ignored."

"I… don't really understand."

"Why did you light the grenade if you did not mean to part with it, Anuna?"

I looked down, at the stamped shape of the grenade's exterior that had burned into my palm. It would be there until the day I died. "I wanted to stick it to your Spartan, but he stopped me."

"He's good that way." 'Caervasnee told me, with part of a mischievous grin that I caught the last of right as he turned away, replacing the field medical kit to the compartment.

_SPARTAN 093 – FLINT_

The controls weren't that hard to figure. I had driven enough Covenant equipment to have a basic understanding of how their things worked, but truth be told I didn't think that any Spartan had ever been in a Phantom before – at least, not to drive it. My Elite friend… 'Caervasnee… got us cleared through all the checkpoints for a smooth exit, but just in case my fingers still hovered near the gun controls.

I wanted to try them, but we got through cleanly so I had to let them go. I understood what had gotten me this far, though – luck. A hellacious lot of it. Probably more than 117 had, really, and he was practically made of lucky. He'd trip and fall on a dry gravel bed if it meant he got missed by a sniper's round. He just had a way of being graceful under fire and it put most of the rest of us to shame.

I was apparently having my own run of good fortune, this time, though, which I was grateful for. How cool was this? I was in a Covenant Phantom without authorization, at the behest of not one but _two_ of their Honor Guards! I wasn't sure how many times that had happened to a Spartan in the past but I was pretty sure I was safe to claim I could very easily be the first one.

I watched as the stars swallowed our craft, and then wondered where I was going to go to now. Doubtless without a stardrive of some kind we'd never get far. Definitely not deep enough into Human territory before we ran out of food… and to that end, what was I going to do with my two Elites, since Humanity at large wasn't liable to be terribly nice to them?

I let that one lie for a while, as I watched 'Caervasnee get up and walk into the back, pulling the cape off his armored hide as he went. His little friend… whoever he was… had been sitting still and quiet for a while, but when they started to talk again I began to configure the input on my helmet, certain if I just played with it enough I'd find what frequency of noise 'Caervasnee spoke on. Surely he wasn't just lip-motioning all his words. I'd seen him doing that, but it hadn't occurred to me at the time to play with my sound input to see if he was actually making any real noise.

It took a little calibration to find it, but when I did, I realized as I looked over the related data for that setting that this guy had to have the weirdest deformity in his vocals… the _weirdest_. But he came through loud and clear, audible enough.

I nodded as I looked back across the controls before me. Talking about grenades. Wait… I raised my head, and after a moment I played back a part of their conversation, sure I had heard another name. Yeah, sure enough, there it was. Anuna. I made a mental note of it, and went back to minding my controls. I got the readings for the local cartography to come up, so I looked at that for a bit before deciding I was probably deeper into Covenant controlled space than any Human had ever been.

I was about to ask if either of my two companions knew where we could go when a huge hole in slipspace opened up almost on top of us. I stared through the forward screens, awed at the sheer size of the cruiser that poured through it, but I frowned deeply when I thought I recognized quite a number of the bits of debris it left in its wake before the rift closed up.

I leaned forward in my seat, and keyed the zoom on my visor to see some of it better. Holy shit! Those were bits of _buildings_!! _Human_ buildings!! What in god's name had that cruiser been _doing_?? I squinted at something that was bigger than the rest, but I was as zoomed in as I was going to get… so I steered the Phantom closer.

_In Amber Clad._ My heart almost stopped right there… again.

Her odd axis tumble slowly corrected, but before I could figure out the comns unit in the Phantom, her engines had fired, and she moved forward, so I looked ahead to see where they were heading.

High Charity still hovered over the same Halo it had when we had left it, but for all that we had been moving, the new Covenant arrival looked inclined to dock more with the ring than with the larger Covenant establishment. I turned the Phantom, and chased that ship down. That was my ticket home, but for now I could probably do some good making trouble with my fellow Humans right here under High Charity.

If I was lucky, 117 would be with them – he had a penchant for being where he was needed, and if there was a Human vessel near a Halo, the Master Chief Petty Officer was most definitely needed there.

If I found him, I knew I'd never be able to stop grinning again. This was my lucky break… alone, separated, we Spartans had made hell a new place for the Covenant. With my two new friends, I could make it more so, especially if John was around to help out.

There was just one problem – where would he put down? If one didn't start out with the man, one would be hard pressed to catch up to him when he was working. I had been there when Kelly was still around, and while there had been over fifteen of us then, she left everyone behind, even John, but though I wasn't the slowest of the Spartans that ever served, I had a nagging feeling I was the slowest surviving one. I just didn't have rockets in my ass like some of my siblings did.

We sailed in fast and steep, diving practically at the ring, speeding after the Human vessel that had come through right in front of my nose all huge and beautiful like a gift on Christmas morn. Both of the Elites were still in the back, talking. I wasn't listening anymore, though, not even after the revelation that my eleutherian enemy actually wasn't mute after all. I had a destination in mind, all of a sudden, and I meant to meet it.

_HERETIC – G'WI 'CAERVASNEE_

I knew the kid was distressed, but even as I soothed his rattled nerves and outlined the real reality he'd been missing, I realized the longer we talked how little else about himself he betrayed. His manner was flawless – for the most part. Had I been speaking to him looking at something else like he was, I would have missed it. Had I been listening with half an ear, I would have missed it. Had I been in the other room, at the other end of a comn, even immersed in some otherwise benign task, I would have missed it all completely and never been the wiser.

But I was paying more attention than my usual for one reason; I knew his trust in me had been shaken, and even though he followed where I had not led, he was still questioning that decision. I didn't need him to suddenly revert and stab me through my shoulder blades. If I was going to die, I wanted to at least see it coming… and see who gave it to me. Rather than attain that end, I felt confident enough in my own assertion to explain the rest of what he'd jumped into that I had philosophically evaded until now. It was, after all, my own method of doing things…

Watching him, stoic, guarded, cautious… among other things. I felt as though I was walking on the edge of a blade, and I could cleave my hooves in twain and then the rest of me on it or fall from it, so precariously perched was I. Yet it was none of those things that I zeroed in on when the last on the list made itself apparent.

Between words, he inhaled softly, but in that mere benign action a bold sentiment was made clear to me, paying such close attention as I was. Anuna was in pain.

No other element to his person betrayed the fact, but it had been spoken, and there it lay. I could take it or leave it, however I chose. I had fragmented memory of him at best, but though disarranged, it was all there. Whenever I got it back into order, I'd understand it better, but right now all that mattered was the contents of each fragment – I had been felled, been kicked while I was down. Anuna had been the one to pick my battered carcass up and carry me away from what otherwise would have become an end unfulfilled. He'd cared enough to do as I asked of him, to provide for me when I would never have known the difference.

He turned away, started to rise and approach the cockpit, but I set a hand on his shoulder, and held him down. He turned his head back the other way to look at me again, curious why I had just done that. There was no overtly open hostilities between him and my Spartan, and there was no fear in my hearts for the Human's integrity should he again fight with Anuna. Yet it wasn't the Spartan I was concerned for, in stopping them from meeting again, inside that cockpit.

I was about to speak, had formed a word in my forebrain who's next deployment was in my mandibles, but it withered and died, replaced in a blink when he next inhaled, upon seeing my expression change just inside the span it took for him to turn enough to see me and to turn enough to focus on me totally. He started to draw away, unsure what I was about, but again I stopped him. "Be still, brother." I admonished. "What wound have you hidden from me?"

He looked away. "I am fine."

"You may soon see battle again, Anuna, any ill you harbor now will be agitated by it. Tell me. What pains you?"

Anuna looked back at me. "How do you even _know_?"

"Your pain is betrayed on your breath." I told him. "I can hear you strain each time you inhale."

He blew a big, obvious sigh – and there it was again. That slight, faint tremble in his breath, decrying what agony he sought to conceal. But the action was an expression of disappointment in the self, not an agreement and advertisement of my observation. "Nothing evades you."

"Some things do." I corrected. "But not this. Where are you wounded?"

"Inside."

My brain froze for a moment. If it was just impact trauma he'd be fine. I'd received bruises before. But I had entered the Mausoleum in time to witness my Spartan's parting gesture, the double-footed kick that had separated him from Anuna at the conclusion of the fuse of his grenade. Being kicked that hard by powered armor – especially powered armor as big as one of us and as heavy as a one-man fighter – that was different. Especially since it had landed quite square in Anuna's belly.

That he'd lain for a moment gasping, oblivious to the world, after, was no surprise at all. That I had had to carry him to the Phantom we now sat in was also no real surprise. Still, there he sat, curled just slightly for the ache, and just when I started to imagine exactly that, he gave a small cough.

Oh, shit.

I stood, and retrieved the medical kit once more, certain beyond doubt the poor kid would start coughing up his own blood from some severe internal bleeding. He didn't really get that far, though, sustaining with just the one cough, as though clearing his throat instead. His bright, attentive eyes traced my every motion, and as I fished the hydrocolloid pills from the bottom of the box, a slight, faint smile touched his features.

When he had the medication in hand, he paused to look up at me and say, "I will never truly know you, will I, G'wi?"

My own responding smile was broad and warm. "It's my understanding."

SPARTAN 093 – FLINT

The radio chatter from _In Amber Clad_ was apparently entirely in-ship. I couldn't find the frequency they were using, though, if I was wrong. Still, it didn't take long at all for me to catch up, and by the time I did, they had loosened their first wave of pods at the ring.

This was my chance – but I couldn't get square with the ship nor catch up to the pods without being blasted to bits, so I had to hang back initially and then make my own entrance after everyone had settled. This proved interesting. Phantoms innumerable had been deployed upon the assaulted area the pods had fallen in, but I didn't know that until I had finally made that gap and gotten it closed.

We came up broadside with another Phantom as it stitched the ODSTs on the ground with plasma fire, but just as I had swung my own Phantom's guns around, a warning light came on in my display. Just shy of enough time for me to blink after it activated, the Phantom rocked hard to port, and the alarm changed pitch. Now it was screaming bloody murder, because my starboard side had just been disarmed… by a rocket.

Damn! I had just enough time to tilt my bird to the side to fly her away when the second rocket ripped the cannon off my prow… argh! I knew exactly who that was, no one had aim quite like John. But I was going to give him a stern talking to once I finally caught up to his shiny green ass, for shooting at _me_ like that! I got the Phantom ducked over the side of the cliff and away from that ruined, shelled-out building the guys were hiding out in, aware I couldn't land there or help them with all those swarms of Covenant.

G'wi stepped up beside me, suddenly, alarmed by the impacts. He sat in the copilot's seat, and looked at the control board before looking at me. "What is happening?"

"I found John." I told him, through gritted teeth.

"You found… what?" He asked, sounding confused.

I looked over at him. Oh. Right. Oops. "The demon." I elaborated. "I found him."

"Oh." He nodded. "He is one of you, correct?"

"Yeah… ranked twenty four ahead of me in our old class. He was the best of us… had all the second best on his team, too… back when we still had teams, that is." I sighed.

"I rather expected he would be happy to see you." G'wi mentioned, playing his long fingers across the controls.

"Me, too." I agreed, propelling us forward. The place was sliced – broad, uneven topped cliff ribbons, all running parallel. The one the guys had landed on was connected to the next one over by a giant link-bound metal bridge… I imagined it was Covenant constructed since it wasn't just an energy beam, like what I had seen before. As I brought us over the far side of the cliff top John had landed on, and over to see the one he would go towards, I made note of all the surrounding enemy.

Damn.

Heavy armor danced with infantry galore, and within spitting distance, there was going to be a lot of Banshee support. Not so much the Phantoms here – those would be exhausted on the initial. John would see to that. And while they raced to be reloaded with more infantry, he would dive headlong into the next batch of them, leaving them unaided and un-reinforced. The Covenant's only help was going to be those Banshees, and truth be told, those were not such a big deal. Not to John.

I took the liberty of running one out of the sky, and shooting another down, but there were six or eight of them total, and I had to do better than that if I was going to make things easier for John. G'wi didn't say anything, oddly enough, but I figured it might be because of the detail I only later came to realize… these particular Banshees were piloted by Brutes.

God, I hated Brutes.

I got all but two of them before the telling whine and thump of heavy artillery exchanging blows back at the bridge redirected their attention. Screaming in terror, or so I liked to imagine, the final pair went speeding for the canyon cut. But before either could make a second pass, that Scorpion had shot them both out of the sky.

Hmm… I hadn't realized how small Scorpions looked from way up… and then the third shot zipped past my Phantom. At that point I decided it would be prudent to abandon the obviously enemy-make craft and go it on foot. At least my armor wasn't Covenant design! Or John might never stop shooting at me. I left him to the four or so Wraith tanks and the half dozen ghosts on the far side of the bridge, casting a last look behind my bird in time to see his Marine buddies run one of the Ghosts right off that edge…

That Elite must have been having one hell of a bad day right then.

We circled around to where a giant device that looked partly Forerunner and just a little Covenant sat, and I lowered us there. The shelled-out ruins were all knocked over, here, with several large pylons lying flat on their sides, but it didn't look like it had a lot of enemy on it.

By the time I had made the gravity beam, though, that had changed. Covenant came out of all the little nooks and crannies, every hole, every perch, from all directions. As I proceeded to duck away from the initial volley of fire and shoot back, I heard the beam twang again to signify someone else was coming down.

Looking back from where I had taken cover, I thought it was Anuna… but the way that battle-cry sounded, it had to be G'wi. He threw a grenade at a cluster of Grunts, then – to my utter surprise – pegged a fellow Elite in the head with his carbine until the hapless fellow fell over dead. Brutal! I reloaded my own guns, which for the moment were a pair of Covenant needlers. For a moment I wondered if I would have enough ammo, but looking up to see Anuna coming down, a sleet of pink streaks parted the air between us.

I smiled.

Rising from my cover, I dove headlong into a group of three Jackals, four Grunts and a pair of blue-clad Elites. Smacking the shield of one of the Jackals, I drove it onto its ass, knocking one of the Grunts into the second Elite's knees, and felling that, too. I elbowed through the other two Jackals before they could fire at me, then filled the rest of the Grunts with needles. When one of them exploded under the standing Elite's aim, all his plasma went right into the broken stone ceiling above us.

A little battered from the blast myself, I had to recover a lot faster from it, and put the last of both magazines straight into that Elite's face. He roared right before he went up, throwing the Jackals flat and punting me onto my ass. I got to a knee and grabbed one of the Jackals by its ugly head to keep it from shooting at me, and threw it at the other one.

By this point, the first Jackal I had shouldered aside was back up. Clawing the Elite's plasma rifles from the stones, I shot the lot of them until both my new guns overheated and their vents popped open.

But for now… at least… this group was gone. Standing, I shook the guns a little to help them cool, and when their vents snapped shut again, I proceeded to the next battle. G'wi and his friend were not inefficient, though, and we soon had the place totally cleared. I looked up right as the gondola detached from the port, its counterpart loaded with more Covenant bastards and headed this way. I sighed. Oh, well… for the moment, the place was empty, and if I could convince my two Elite buddies to lay low, maybe John wouldn't shoot me anyway, enemy guise or no.

We paused for a collective breath for just a heartbeat, but right as we had all turned to head back towards John's push, a retreating wave of Covenant poured out of the tight, narrow doorway ahead of us. Spotting the two Elites in front of me earned some words – but when they spotted me, the shooting started all over again. First, one fool idiot tried to tell G'wi that he ought to look behind him.

If I hadn't know any better, I'd have sworn I heard him laugh.

HERETIC – ANUNA 'VADUMEE

My innards were all on fire, and there seemed nothing could quench the pain. Every motion I made hurt worse and worse, but years of honor-driven combat and training refused to let me allow that to slow me down.

Lost blood was lost honor, but I suppose when one has become a heretic to one's own people, it becomes a moot point. At the fore of my guns were former comrades – I had never met any of these footsoldiers before, but I was no simpleton. Some of the clan markings were recognizable in the melee, and I knew some of them were closely known and honored by my own bloodline. I only hoped, as I slew them and cast them down, that the gods would still honor their lives as they might not honor mine.

Thoughts of what my esteemed brother might think of me now escaped me – I was focused, making headway and carving a path out of what had once been my ally. G'wi and I were not the spearpoint, though – for having just come out of cryo that was by no means configured to sustain a living being in any kind of revivable condition, the Human Spartan was doing remarkably well.

But when the number of Unggoy and Kig-yar had diminished, and only eight or nine fellow Sangheili warriors remained, each of us trying desperately to out-maneuver the other, things became suddenly interesting. As I rounded the corner on an unsuspecting – and I say unsuspecting not because he was oblivious to me, but rather because he was expecting me to come around the _other_ side of the pillar he had his back against – warrior clad in deep, cerulean blues, I noticed his reinforcements had arrived.

A pair of Hunters led the charge ahead of a full squadron of more Sangheili… that was more than we three could handle, and rather than engaging the Elite before me, instead I reversed momentum, caught G'wi by an arm, and spun him back towards our only escape. The gondolas would have to be ignored for now… there was no way to speed them up or slow them down, and there was certainly not one readily available to run away in.

G'wi gave the signal to the Spartan, and he covered our retreat as we made our way to the Phantom. But going there proved hazardous as well… informed of our status as heretics, the Hunters promptly blew the nose out of the bird, and it listed badly until it buried the port flange in the stonework to its side. Ruptured plasma conduits blew hot fumes and rippling waves of noxious gasses out as the hull boiled away, parts of the frame slagging down under the intensity of the released heat.

But for some reason, the Spartan was undeterred. So following his lead, we each vaulted right through the middle of the dead Phantom, leaping through the cracked fissures in the sides of the hull and out the other side of the collapsed wreck to the open, uncontested stones beyond.

Right as I, taking up the rear as I was, made it through, the Phantom's simmering remains erupted spectacularly in its final rupturing explosion, right under both pursuing Hunters.

No one was going to go into _that_ inferno… and certainly no one would be coming out of it, either. We were home free… except the part of the structure the Phantom blocked off was not entirely cut off from the rest of it… and something told me we had come to the wrong place on the map to meet up effectively with anyone willing to aid our endeavors.

Regret was here… Truth had only just headed out. Mercy was still with Truth, but Regret's sermon was scheduled to start at the heart of the central lake network, inside the vaulted antechamber in the middle. This meant that the number of Covenant forces here would be so ridiculously bloated that there was absolutely no way any of us would last long at all here, if we kept having to shoot our way into and out of every situation we met. It also compounded matters that our Phantom had been shot down.

My insides felt like they could pour out my navel without any help. We took across the better part of what remained of our elevated platform, our combat shoes slamming hard on the ancient stone brickwork beneath them. Broken pillars stood in stark relief against an azure sky, but there was a foreboding darkness that seemed to hover just beyond that tranquil blue.

I was beginning to run out of breath as we made the last unobstructed corner, but as G'wi and the Spartan darted ahead, the little voice in the back of my head told me to hitch my rifle to my thigh and pull out my sword. Not one to ignore my instincts, I did just that – and I had only just marked the activation switch with my upper thumb and watched the blade flare to life against the running colors ahead of me when something smacked into the back of my head.

It was as if everything went white, but I could still hear sound bleeding through before I felt myself hit the stones. The pain in my middle faded somewhat as all my other senses began to disappear, but I heard one thing plain before the colorless oblivion swallowed me.

"Forerunners… Honor Guard?"

HERETIC – G'WI 'CAERVASNEE

My Spartan had a hell of a gait. I knew my legs were longer, knew I could have outpaced him, but it was apparently in his interests to evade something before it, theoretically, burst. I didn't know what he was running from or to, but I wasn't about to let him out of my sight.

We'd done that dance before, and the last time that happened, by the time I found the bugger again, he'd been strung up. I was not a slow learner, and while the human was irritating at best, he was still… I guess a friend. He had enough honor to understand where I was coming from, and that was good enough for me. I still had questions, and I knew I wouldn't hesitate to kill him if he chose to turn on me, but in the meantime I was content to think of him as one of mine.

He turned through a tight spot and was gone across the other side, and I had only just popped through that same tight spot when I heard the clamor of pursuit just a breath behind me. I turned on a hoof, my guns up, but instead of firing them, my mandibles snapped apart.

_Anuna_. His expression was blank, his gaze riveted to me. I had only a half a breath to consider that before his sword flared to life, as if he'd had a change of heart and meant to end me here and now. I couldn't hold it against him, truly, but even as I backpedaled from such a fate, something in white armor rose up behind him, and with a crosswise strike, flattened my fellow Guard to the stones. His sword struck shy of his grasp, and deactivated with a loud _poof_ before clattering away between two stray bricks.

The Commander paused, and looked up at me past Anuna's crumpled form, his own eyes accusing. But his outward expression looked more like incredulity. "Forerunners…" The words came out of him sounding scandalized. "Honor Guard?"

I felt my aim begin to fall, as my posture relaxed from my backward momentum. If I could just play this momentary lapse of reason on his part, maybe I could retrieve Anuna before they killed him.

But the Commander wasn't that shocked to see us; standing over Anuna's fallen form, he tore his own sword from his hip, and activated it so it blew chunks out of the bricks where Anuna's own had fallen. "Your heresy will not go unpunished."

I blew a sigh. Great. I tasted my mandibles, testing the grips I had on my guns. I didn't have a clue where my Spartan had disappeared to, and if he had somehow managed to miss the fact that both Anuna and I had fallen behind, he'd probably failed to stop moving ahead. He wasn't one to move slowly, either, I'd found.

But this business of getting caught, and getting left behind was really starting to get old… all my life it had just repeated. Well, this time, I was going to give it my best effort not to let it. I opened my hands, and felt the grips on my guns leave them. The Commander's eyes flicked downwards in that instant, and in the next he was back on his heels, forced to parry defensively as I surged back through the tight passageway between the pylons at him with my own sword in hand.

Plasma crackled loudly in protest, at times making small exploding noises, at times screaming like tortured metal, as he and I battered hard and fast at one another's blades. Eventually he got his turned between the blades on mine, but after having my wrist wrenched sideways, I wrenched his right back – I had a tough grip, and I wasn't going to be disarmed so easily. The Commander's sword popped right out of his grasp, but before it had gotten far, he stuck his other hand up and snagged it left-handed.

The connection parted, and we went at it again, dancing forward and back, and more often than not in circles as we each tried to gain entry around or through one another's deft defenses. I got an opening in mine when he caught me and hooked my sword out and up, but I stuck a hoof into the gap and kicked him straight in the guts, staggering him when he'd wanted to stick me instead. I followed his unbalanced retreat, hammering hard on his blade, trying to make it break. He got the edge turned on me, though, and pushed me back. There was a distinct difference between metal and plasma blades – sword connections in metal were best made flat-on, as an edge-on connection would severely serrate the leading edges. In plasma technology, however, that leading edge had some interesting science behind it.

For just a heartbeat, the blades passed through one another, and he and I both were driven back, parting us for a heartbeat. With a roar, he leapt at me again, but rather than meeting his downward strike, I ducked my head, rolled over it, caught the brickwork with my hooves, and slashed hard in an upward arc that would, if not blocked, slice him from hip to shoulder across the breast.

I made contact against shielding, heard it crackle, the skidding, syncopated pops the contact emitted causing the Commander to roar something at me – and while I didn't catch it, I knew it had to be some kind of curse. I straightened into my swinging thrust, and battered aside his incoming block, before scraping my blade across his shielding a second time. Colored light splayed across his white armor, the crackling lines of crawling electric current branching across his shielding giving the Elite beneath them a sickly, rainbowed pallor.

He pushed me back, snarling, but he must have thought he couldn't win. I wasn't that great at this – I was operating mainly on what he was telling me, as I had always done, even in the lessons given prior to assigning me a High Councilor to guard. It was touch-and-go for me, but I had already thought up a good counter when he brought his sword around in such a manner as to catch my own outward swing.

The tips connected, and slid down across one another, locking into place once more. Crosswise to their edges, it was unlikely the quantum theory that had accosted the swords earlier would strike again. They were locked, and so long as we kept pushing, they'd stay that way. He brought us down, clawing a set of four measured lines in the stone at our hooves, and reached across the gap between us for me with his free hand.

His right, and injured, hand.

I ignored the blind, feeble groping at my throat, peeling back with a lefthanded slug that connected so sharply with the nose of his helm that I felt my own knuckles crackle. Pain lanced up that arm, lodging and burning especially harsh in that wrist, but the blow snapped the Commander's head back so hard he reeled away, unlocking my blade from his own and freeing me for my next move.

I leapt after him with a feral snarl, catching him with a knee and my aching hand just a second before my blade plunged deep through the center of his chest. Shielding broke apart in explosive display just as we hit the ground together, and he gagged up at me as I felt my sword bite hard into the stones behind his back. I just growled at him – he wouldn't hear any words I might have to spare him, and I was not one for sparing them to the dead anyway.

He'd called me a heretic.

And he'd killed Anuna.

He deserved this.

SPARTAN 093 – FLINT

It had taken me fully a heartbeat to realize there was only one red dot on my motion tracker where there ought to have been two. But circling around, I found we'd been caught. Scores of Elites in red and blue with Grunts at their heels in swarms to rival the Flood had come up behind us, cutting in from the side. I hit a set of tumbled bricks and leapt to the tops of the pylons surrounding the small courtyard I'd managed to squeeze into, and circled around.

Damn. They'd already nailed the kid, and that mute was getting his ass handed to him by a sword-wielding guy in white. Memory suggested the color meant the Elite clad in it was of some significant rank… like Fleet Master. Basically it amounted to an Admiral in my own half of the war. He was responsible for the command of one of the Covenant's many fleets. I'd heard that they had a goodly number of them.

I stashed my needlers and shouldered a carbine I'd swiped, and began picking off the guys coming up behind that white dude's lead, a little unwilling to interrupt a swordfight that actually looked more like a duel of wills than any actual field battle. G'wi looked pissed as hell, down there… and he was stalking that white guy like he was the most offensive kind of prey he'd ever been presented with.

As the tides turned in the battle below my left ankle, I had to recall everything I'd been taught about shooting. I was constantly in motion, picking off heads and hammering through shielding as fast as I could. If I missed a single one of them, the fight below me would be decided by the mob.

If there was one thing I knew without needing told, it was that I was not liable to get far without _some_ kind of backup. That meant, barring the kid's demise, I had to hang onto the mute for all I was worth, until I could get to John or one of the Marine's dispatches. I hammered out rounds from that carbine as fast as they would go, adjusting my aim almost for every shot I took, adjusting my position between each. Return fire was a constant hail, splashing and shattering against the stacked stone bricks around and behind me.

One of the Grunts lasted long enough to pull free a grenade, but it never got to recover from the backwards wind to be thrown when my next round went through the alien's head, and dropped his coiled form right over onto his methane tank.

The magazine's auto eject once it was fully emptied helped greatly – it added to my speed of loading a new magazine into the shunt without needing to either pause to key it so it would drop or fight with it to pull it out myself. But even after I'd gone through a good half my available store of ammo for the thing, I did a fool thing and the magazine popped me right in the visor.

"Gah!"

And that told every last split-chin alien bastard right where I was.

I pelted headlong off the overhead arches into their midst to avoid having my carcass shredded for me by so many grenades I couldn't even count them, and I succeeded in slamming at least one of them into the stones. The Elite gave a pained wheeze, but before he could execute any other action, I was up off of him and moving again. The first thing I did was claw a fresh gun from the next guy's hands, and I filled him with plasma from it before I let him drop. Needles sprayed in all directions as Grunts panicked and went in all directions, one of them being so disoriented that it ran straight into me.

I staggered over the thing, fighting not to trip up and land flat, but once it was past, I shouldered into the next Elite and bullied him into a pylon. I had not honestly looked at the pillar before I did that, but its top crashed down on top of us as the middle part swayed back from the impact. I gave an involuntary yelp of surprise before ducking out of the way, but had I paused even for a heartbeat to look back at what I had caused, I would have become a permanent resident.

Stacked and suspended stones came down around me on all sides, squashing Elites and Grunts and filling up empty spaces. It was the first time I'd had an adrenalin rush from something other than actual battle – and boy was I hopping. It seemed everything I sought purchase on just turned under my grasp, until finally I'd made the gap where the overheads had already fallen, and the arch was incomplete enough that it fell short when it toppled. The rising plume of dust had to be visible for miles out, though…

Straightening, I turned to look back. Limbs and weaponry and the occasional scattered piece of armor was all that I could see of my former enemies. I breathed out, long and slow, and spared a moment to dust myself off a little. The motions caused a twinge to form in my pierced shoulder, but it wasn't even worth a grimace. If it healed with a hole through it, though, I knew I'd never be the same again. My grip in that hand was still weak, even though most of the pain had finally faded.

It was a spectacular mess, though, and I had to admit, as I dusted my palms together… John would have been proud of me. I turned away, back to the courtyard, and pushed through a similar tight squeeze to reach its interior as I had the last time. There in the middle, G'wi stood, his sword still active at his side, standing looking down at what remained of the Elite in white. He'd won the fight, it seemed, but he didn't look terribly happy about it.

Keying my comn filters, I asked, "Something wrong?"

He lifted his head, and swung it around, to look at me. I saw his mandibles move, but heard nothing – at first I thought he'd switched noise-types on me again, but then he shook his head, and walked from his kill to the place where we all had first come through this circle.

He stepped up to the entrance I had used at first, and stepped sideways through it, before kneeling next to the other Honor Guard. I sighed. Time, time, time, and we were wasting it. Oh well – if it had been a Spartan over there I might have done something similar. We weren't even assured he was dead, after all.

I mean… look at me!

I let the warrior have his moment, occupying myself with policing items that I didn't have to dig for. If the kid hadn't bought it, though, he was going to slow us down… and if I wasn't quick on my feet, I knew I'd never catch John at all.

Finished with that task, I walked back over to where the two Elites were, to find them both on the ground – G'wi sat on his heels, the kid's shoulders in his lap, his long head tucked into one of G'wi's elbows.

"I had wanted to see him again." Anuna was saying. It was part of a conversation I'd missed most of, I realized, standing there apart from the rest of them. "They sent him to the human world."

"You may, as yet." G'wi answered, sounding speculative. "No one knows how the stars turn until they have turned."

"Was it futile, G'wi… was it wrong, of me, to follow a faith so blindly?"

Noticing me, G'wi looked up at me, but he didn't appear inclined to say anything to me at present; "Misguided, perhaps. I was there once, too."

"I feel I have wasted my life." Anuna mused, taking a shaky breath.

"Your life is only wasted if you don't do what you feel is right, as each situation appears. If you squander opportunity to correct past wrongs, however misguided or deliberate." I put in, drawing Anuna's gaze from where it had been, somewhere off in space. "Make each moment count." I told him. "That's all anyone can do. That's all anyone can ask of you."

He gave me the strangest little smile. "It speaks."

I grinned, behind my golden visor. "From time to time."

G'wi looked back down at Anuna, then, and blew a sigh at him. "He cannot go on."

"What does he need?" I asked.

"Nothing a heretic would receive." G'wi looked up at me again. "Do your people understand honor, Spartan?"

I stood silent for several long seconds, absorbing that, and trying to force down the inevitable reaction before I could think it – this caused a feeling to well up inside, and make me feel unnaturally ill. Finally, it came out in a sigh. "I know it's a little overrated."

G'wi cast me a disapproving look.

"You're going to kill him, aren't you?" I asked. "Because he can't get up and fight. Because he's wounded. Am I right?"

G'wi seemed to study me for a long moment before he answered. "We can neither carry him nor dare I leave him here, to whatever dishonorable treatment the Covenant might mete out when they find him. It would be a stain on my honor to abandon him."

"It'd be a bigger stain if you turned on your own. He just needs a patch-up." I argued. I pointed one armored finger at Anuna, then, and added, "You kill that kid, G'wi, and you and I will be enemies again."

Anuna promptly adopted a very distressed expression.


	4. I Am At Least, I Think I Am

SPARTAN 093 – FLINT

There was a limit, I suppose, to what culture clashes could tolerate. But putting my Mjolnir-clad finger in G'wi's face had apparently done the trick, and he'd foregone anything his own people might have conjured, and he agreed – if reluctantly – to play it my way.

For now.

He did stress that if I demanded anything further damaging to either honorable Elite's tender pride, though, he'd off me himself. Well, I guess that made us even. I'd done little better than the human version of the same, in my own way. But it made us tenuous allies, at best – I would be happy to be back among a squadron of Marines, or following the Chief if I could catch him. This practice of operating with a pair of Elites was really crawling on me.

Anuna was looking worse and worse as the hours went by, but for the most part, the area we'd fled to appeared totally deserted – and that collapse I'd made for our pursuit seemed complete enough to prevent them from accessing us entirely, save by dropship.

I wasn't seeing anything of the kind, though on occasion I'd see some strange little ten-pound dragonfly in the sky, followed by a flitting housefly that looked about twice that big. None of these seemed to bother us at all, or even take note.

I learned this was a deceiving notion the hard way when a whole swarm of the houseflies turned up ahead of a landing that connected to a gondola. Stepping out onto the landing, all the big buggers came right out from under the platform and the gondola, and swarmed into the air, darkening the sky for the brief moment it took them to make landing on the platform's top. I was about to wonder if I needed to shoot them when I spied the first plasma pistol in the first one's chitinous grasp.

"My day just can't get any better, can it?" I griped.

One one thousand... two one thousand... three one thou...

G'WI 'CAERVASNEE – HERETIC

The idiot human actually stopped, for a heartbeat, and he stared at the drones for a full three second segment of time! I was a little aghast he'd be so slow to react to the sentry swarm, but even as he backed past me, trading fire and plasma with the insectoid creatures, it occurred to me that maybe he'd not realized what they were... the ring was not without native fauna, after all, and the drones did bear a resemblance to what the halo array had to offer.

Anuna sagged to his knees against a rock face when I let go of him, but even though it was dangerous to attract attention to himself like that, it might well have been his intention of freeing me from the Spartan's wrath while simultaneously seeking that out I had been denied.

We three somehow managed to mow the insectoid alien creatures down completely, though, without ever achieving that end. I felt sorry for Anuna... better that he might have lived. But while living still, in the physical sense, he had little chances of remaining that way. I felt put upon to ferry his slowly dying self around like I was, bitter at the wicked human for inflicting this limbo of interests on us both.

He was, to a fault, alien. How could he be anything but, though? Really – he'd been born to alien culture on an alien world, and reared on alien ideas, spoon-fed alien logic. In the end, it could beget only the one outcome – an alien, in all ways.

I couldn't honestly begrudge him for being what he was – but he was out of line for demanding I... we... behave as if we were as alien as he was. What right had he, to so mar the youth's honorable legacy like this? It was a mercy, a fitting end, to just let him go. On top of cultural reasoning, though, I had to add, Anuna was suffering a great deal of physical pain. And that accursed Spartan wouldn't let him end it.

Was he insane?

I picked my way across the field of half-burnt, half-shredded bugs, noting which ones had green rosettes and which ones had blue. It was a beautiful metallic coloring on their otherwise dull carapaces and exoskeletons. I ran my eyes over the gondola, wondering where its connection was. Each gondola made a straight run – albeit an unsteady, swaying one – from one point to the next. They also made a connective stop in the halfway point, where the first and the sister transport would shoot data at one another.

I wasn't privy to why this happened, but it made it dandy for one gondola's occupants to jump across if they needed to turn around and go back... or for one loaded with Covenant to board one loaded with heretics, and wipe them out shy of their destination... or any possible escape.

I didn't want to look at Anuna anymore, and so long as I couldn't kill him, I would still have to as we dragged him along with us. Though for a moment I thought about leaving him behind – as even a death granted by a Covenant-loyal Elite would probably be preferable to this slow death – I realized the err in my logic.

It was fascinating to watch, really – I felt my dour expression slacken into passive curiosity as my Spartan hauled Anuna up from his place on the stone ground and verily carried the unfortunate soul across his Mjolnir-clad shoulders up to and onto the gondola.

It was not something we Sangheili practiced, really – if one were found splayed across another's shoulders it was usually a still-frame from a combat move. Humans, though, I had seen tended to carry their wounded that way. Perhaps their anatomies preferred the position, either for the carrier or the burden, one, and made them do it like that.

Or maybe it was just because it aided in the preservation of the carrier's balance when under fire. Being horribly front-heavy did nothing for a warrior attempting to flee a barrage of bullets. But on the other hand, being horribly weighted down and yet still balanced on one's hooves, the same warrior might make it to his intended destination before he was killed.

Humans... I swore I'd never fully understand them.

ANUNA 'VADUMEE – HERETIC

Unbelievably enough, the more time I sat still the less my innards wanted to become my outtards, and the more time went by in general, I felt less pain from them. It was by no means a recovery – I was still in a great deal of agony, and I still couldn't carry my own weight. But it shocked me greatly to be hauled off the rocks and carried – not dragged – by G'wi's Spartan across that impossible span towards and onto the gondola, where he propped me against a support for one of the overheads.

Much of the dizziness had faded, but the nausea was still there, so I kept my mandibles closed around my surprise as he turned away from me and walked towards the outer edge of the transport. He would find the controls and activation key there, but the things were primarily Forerunner, and I doubted he'd understand half of what he saw on those holographic projection panels.

As G'wi appeared in my other peripheral, though, I heard – and felt – the docking latches give, and retract. They ground inward on their cuff sleeves, and then rotated downwards to the locked position they always took when the gondola was in motion. I watched as the bridge slid back and folded down, the two cuff sleeves folding up under it as it went down. The whole contraption was a jointed nightmare, but even after eons, none of it needed maintenance... overmuch.

There was stipulation that perhaps a Huragok came through once a season or so just to check on it all... it wouldn't do, after all, to have some hinged part fail right when a Prophet went by over it!!

G'wi went past me without looking at me or pausing, so I let my gaze follow him, figuring he had something important to say to the human. The two of them stood there, though, on the front deck of the gondola, silent and sharing the object of their observation. I didn't doubt for a moment that those two could somehow commune without actually swapping words... understanding human body language had to have been a trick!

On the flip side, though, I knew they were not happy with one another at the present time. It had certain tells that even between enemies was obvious. The stiffness of the silence, sometimes, the aggravated motions that otherwise would have been fluid, even the way they both fought off the Covenant loyalists side by side.

G'wi wasn't saying what had him ticked, though, if he even knew. Maybe it was just that the human was behaving like a... well... a human. While we had been declared enemies because the Prophets had caught them desecrating Forerunner technology, we had long since discovered we did not actually mingle well regardless. Humans captured on the field of battle were never easy to get along with, even if they were not actively tormented for information, or for the degradation of their uncaptive fellows' morale.

I spent enough time lost in thought that it surprised me when the gondola stopped moving, the accompanying other pausing alongside it to swap information on the datastream. I still wasn't sure what exactly two gondolas would have to say to one another, but they all did that, and they all did it every time, too.

I sat still more for a lack of ability to do otherwise when the warriors occupying the other gondola began to fling themselves at ours, leaping the gap between the decks with their weapons in hand. One, and I know because I heard him yell on his way down into the water, didn't make it.

I actually didn't get to see anyone at all during that fight, as G'wi and the Spartan went on about the battle without me entirely abovedecks. Absently, I picked at the unidentifiable ooze under my claws, beginning to feel slightly hungry.

It didn't occur to me until later that that little sensation meant something.

_**SPARTAN 093 – FLINT**_

There were something like three Elites on that thing... and almost two dozen Grunts! I kicked the last little triangular-tank-toting alien off the deck of my gondola, and paused to check the ammunition in my carbine. It was about half full, but I had more reloads now thanks to that last attack. When I looked over at G'wi, though, what met my eyes was not the sight of him, but rather the feel of him.

My head snapped back so hard and fast it took my body along with it, and I smacked into the deck on my back instantly. Winded and surprised at the suddenness of the attack, I propped myself up on my elbows, and looked up at the fuming Elite. There was a new ichor smear on my visor, but it just made him look like I was seeing him through a warped mirror. Must have come off his fist...

I reached up, and wiped at it with my gloved hand, smearing it even worse in an attempt to see past it. Finally, I sighed. "You know, if you're trying to make a statement about how icky you feel, you could have just said something, instead of giving some of it to me." I mentioned.

I saw his face contort, and a moment later he gave me one of those really odd sounding Sangheili roars before turning and stalking off, possibly to mope at the other side of the gondola. I sat up, and looked around, noting I had dropped my carbine off the edge into the ramp-well that led to the lower deck. Shaking my head, I rolled to a knee and stood up, before stepping off the edge and dropping into the ramp-well to retrieve the weapon.

"I heard that." Came a voice from the left.

I looked up, instinctively narrowing my eyes even though my visor had auto-lightened to accommodate the darker shadows of the lower decks of the gondola. Anuna still sat propped where I had left him, his needlers adhered to the armor on his thighs.

"What did you say this time?" He asked.

"I didn't." I answered, plainly. "I think he's just starting to rethink the process by which he decided he liked me, is all."

The supposition made the Elite give a soft chuckle. "I do not claim to know him better than you, Spartan. But I doubt he would rescind a decision so lightly... especially now that its repercussions have already been fully realized."

"Repercussions?" I asked, curiously. "You mean like the part where the Covenant wants you two dead more than they want me?"

He nodded.

"Then what's his problem?"

"Possibly, it has to do with your constant, consistent, and irreproachable need to tear from him the one thing he did hold onto when he abandoned the Great Journey."

I thought about that, bowing my head to look at the carbine in my hands for a moment. Figuring the only answer I could possibly come up with, I asked, "His honor?"

"What there is of it." Anuna answered. "Though if abandoning the Covenant's cause was not a blight upon it, I fail to see why anything else would be."

I looked up at him again. "Well, I'm not one for overblowing such a thing, but from what I understand of it, if you don't believe in a cause, you are well within your rights – and honorbound to that end – to abandon it. Am I not right?"

Anuna made a face at me I couldn't really identify. "You think like a human, Spartan, because you are one. Belief is only one half of the contract – he was sworn to his duty, and he broke that oath."

"Once he discovered the cause was not what it seemed, was that such a bad thing?" I pressed, determined not to lose this argument. If I did – or even if I left it unfinished – I imagined some things said between him and G'wi might generate some unsavory action in the future that might well be ill-timed.

I already had G'wi fuming at me, I didn't need him to outright turn on me. Now, as obscure a time as it was, was not a good time for that. I had no idea where to find the crew of the In Amber Clad , or even her most prized charge, the Master Chief. I had priorities, but being stabbed in the back by one of those abominable energy swords was not on the list... and I was finding it was harder and harder to keep it that way the more time went by.

Anuna didn't look inclined to say anything else, which wasn't exactly conducive to my ideas about the conversation we were having. If he had nothing to say, how could I respond? Worse, what did that silence really mean? Was he just nursing his internal injuries, or did he feel a sense of insulted indignance towards me all of a sudden? I honestly had no way of knowing – he was a split-chin alien bastard, and I hadn't the first clue how to culturally read one.

Shaking my head in exasperation, I turned away, walking back up the ramp to the surface level of the gondola. That it had begun to sway again told me it had disengaged from its brother and was now on its way again, so once I reached the top of the ramp, I activated the zoom in my visor. Up ahead was a docking station not unlike the one we had departed from, but just looking from this lone point of view I could see it was much thicker at the support pylons and much smaller around than any of the previous places we'd so far seen.

When G'wi appeared in my peripheral, I made a hasty query to give that fist of his some pause – I _was_ , after all, perched on the very outer front edge of a rail-less verge! "What is that place up ahead for?"

Remarkably enough, he didn't actually sound angry with me when he answered me; "It is an underwater carriage housing. If they know we are coming, they will doubtless take the carriage and depart, to prevent us from using it."

"What is an underwater carriage?"

"Not unlike your elevator platforms, really... spare that this one goes down, rather than up, and is watertight for the majority of the journey." G'wi explained. I looked at him. "If memory serves, this will take us to the contact point where another gondola run would take us to the temple where the Prophet of Regret is making his sermon."

"Sermon?" I almost fainted at the idea. These Prophet people were far too dangerous to be allowed to lightly give things like sermons – and if this one he'd called Regret was up to that much, who knew what it really translated into, in Human's layman's terms? He could be up to something very, very bad!!

"Prior to the lighting of the holy Rings, of course." G'wi added.

It sounded not unlike he were explaining this to a faithful but ignorant Grunt... as though I should be ecstatic about the idea, rather than daunted by it. Had he lost his mind? I wasn't even a creature of the Covenant, let alone one of their faithful! Looking ahead, I tried to work the worry out of my eyebrows, but it didn't really work, seeing as I couldn't really knead them with my fingers. This whole idea of Prophets and sermons and lighting... what the hell was a holy ring, anyways? Did they set their fingers on fire? Or was a holy ring more like a candelabra, where the fire was literal? Or worse, some techno-Forerunner-gizmo, that we all knew was some kind of weapon, but no one knew what precisely _kind_ of weapon?

I had too many questions, and not enough answers. If I had an AI, I could have had it delving into the Covenant battle net, and retrieving much of the answers to most of my questions. But, sadly, I didn't... though I knew if I could just find John, I knew he'd have Cortana in his helmet, and that would suit me just fine.

"What... exactly... do these holy rings do?" I asked, tentative.

"Wipe the galaxy clean of all sentient life." G'wi sounded amused with himself. "It is better known as the cleansing flames of the Great Journey."

I about vomited my heart into my helmet I gagged so hard. "WHAT?"

He laughed at me!!

"And why does this crazy Prophet-person _want_ to do this fallacy???"

"Because those who believe will be propelled along the Path to salvation, and only those unbelievers and the enemies of the faith – such as yourself, naturally – will be consumed." G'wi looked back at me, one of those rather odd looking Elite smiles on his face. "I wouldn't worry about it too much, Spartan. If he does, all are dead. If he does not, there are more immediate problems to attend anyway."

"But if we're going towards him, can't we stop him when we meet?" I begged.

He laughed again, a little louder. "Dear little Human... you misunderstand. The Prophet of Regret – any of the Prophet hierarchs, for that matter – are surrounded by Honor Guards innumerable – you could never make it past them no matter how much firepower you brought. These are not your typical Elite warriors. They are greater than you, greater than anything you have ever before encountered. They are... me, in a sense... with more time to acclimate to their positions."

I pointed at him, uncertain. "Honor Guard...?"

"Once."

I let my hands rest on my Covenant carbine for a moment as I absorbed that. Better than me? Better than a SPARTAN? Heh. Maybe, if there were enough of them, they could probably dogpile me... but I'd already killed two of these fabled Honor Guard just when Anuna had woken me up out of the cryo in the Mausoleum of the Arbiter back on High Charity. I wasn't so much daunted by the idea of so many guardsmen surrounding a single hierarch figure, but more by the fact that it was a little unlikely my two companions would give me any kind of a hand in pulling it off.

"I suppose by the way you're going on about this..." I began, "that you're not exactly thrilled with the idea of me going and picking that fight anyway?"

He cocked his head at me.

"I really, _really_ want to stay alive, thanks... and being wiped off the face of the galaxy with everyone else along with me is not a very warm prospect. I'm a Spartan – taking care of the bad, the ugly, and the daunting is my _job_. And sometimes, the suicidal, for that matter. If this guy poses a direct threat to Humanity, then it's my duty to take him out... or die trying."

G'wi stabbed a long finger at me. "You already died once, for that cause. Is it truly so worthy of dying a second time?"

"Well... at risk of becoming the last surviving member of a race... sure. Your people are fighting for a religion... mine are fighting against extinction. That's a bit different."

He looked away, right as the gondola's docking slab rose up from its folded position, and the gondola settled with the deck of the underwater carriage's hub station. I was about to turn away from the apparently unguarded entrance to the place when G'wi moved past me, going the opposite direction I expected him to.

He headed back, down into the lower deck of the gondola. I turned, curious, and watched from where I was.

Mistake.

G'WI 'CAERVASNEE – HERETIC

He was a human, there was no doubt – but I had never imagined their culture to be so deep, their manner to be so explainable, their very thought patterns with logical execution. He was still very alien to me, but his explanation of the circumstances under which he came to his decisions actually made sense to me.

Kill the most direct threats to his people first – all others are secondary and can wait. This meant no more meandering maurading around, killing whatever we happened to come across. There was chatter about us on the battle net, but parts of it were encrypted and I didn't have the key-codes to access those channels. It was just as well. It was likely ship movements and useless to us anyway.

We, being on foot on the ground of Halo.

The... um... second, Halo. That the Demon had destroyed one of the Forerunner artifacts just by attacking it single-handedly with a single Human dreadnaught was daunting indeed. Perhaps I had oversaid the estimation of a Human Spartan versus the average Sangheili Honor Guard?

I paddled down to where Anuna was resting, but I had only just reached the bottom and made the corner with a single step taken to close the gap between us when I heard the chattering, glass-on-glass tinkle of a needler firing the pins in rapid succession. I turned about, just in time to see the Spartan as the pale violet plasma boiled around his primarily green frame, concealing all from view.

Shards of metal, glass, and explosive filament wiring stitched across the ramp-well, and my shielding, before the telling _thump_ of something very heavy hitting the deck met my ears.

"What happened? What's going on?" Anuna asked, struggling to rise on his own. He got halfway before I caught him, and hoisted him upwards. We could not be seen here, not with the evidence of a loose Spartan among us, if we intended to not be engaged in battle shortly.

But there was nowhere to go, and I was certain the Spartan was dead now... nobody I knew could survive having their backside filled to the brim with needles. Nobody.

Right as I finished that thought, I heard carbine rounds zipping downrange. Forerunners! What was this Human _made_ of??? I abandoned all pretense of communication with Anuna and ran back out to see what the hell kind of demon my Spartan truly was. He was sitting down, remarkably, with the carbine propped on his forward knee, and he'd just finished pegging the last Kig-yar in the head. It was surrounded by six Unggoy and several more of its own kin, all of whom had already died. Silence descended on the field, and I looked down at the Spartan as he leaned to one side. He relaxed a little, propping up on that elbow, and breathed an audible sigh.

"Are you immortal?" I asked, a little astounded.

That golden visor turned upwards, looking back at me. "Huh?"

I shook my head. "Never mind." I extended a hand down to him, but he waved it away... but then he didn't get up of his own accord. Instead he just stayed there, mostly collapsed on the gondola's deck, propped up on one elbow with his carbine leaning against his raised knee. He looked, now I thought about it, like he had felt that detonation of needles after all... he'd just not been completely felled by it, as I was used to.

It took several minutes – very long, very uneventful minutes – for the Human to move again, evidently quite lost for breath. He could have damaged his armor further, but aside from massive scoring marks and that one older puncture where his ship had stabbed him when we'd met, I couldn't really tell if it was really broken or not. He eventually did pry himself off the deck, and haul his carcass upwards to stand as if everything hurt, but once up, he stood straight.

I asked again. "Are you immortal?" I was all set and ready to believe him, too, if he said yes.

But he just gave me one of those blank looks that I could never read, and he drew two fingers across his golden visor before lifting his carbine by the barrel and tucking it into his elbow again. As such, he attempted to head into the structure the gondola had docked to, but I could tell by the way he dragged each step that he wasn't in the greatest shape right now.

I figured he'd get over it in an hour or so... he'd survived everything else! Why not? I turned back away a second time, and watched as Anuna made frighteningly similar motions coming slowly up the ramp from the lower deck to meet us up top. His expression was clear, but he had one hand on the gondola's struts and the other resting against his side, as if trying to conceal or hold in an injury. I knew he didn't have anything on the outside to do that to, but that he could move of his own accord was of interest.

Had the internal injury been great enough to knock him silly, yet slight enough to not matter, and be able to heal itself over time? What kind of wound would be like that?? Still... it made me consider the Spartan's words from earlier in a whole new light. Had he known something I hadn't? Why hadn't he told me, then, instead of delivering threats? If he'd just said that all Anuna needed to get better was some time, I'd have been fully content with letting him sit.

But nooooooo, the Spartan had to do it the _complicated_ way.

_**ANUNA 'VADUMEE – HERETIC **_

It had stopped hurting, finally... but it retained a weird feeling throb, and if I tried to stretch, it would twinge and cramp down, doubling me over. So I moved slowly, to keep from needing to move on my hands and knees. Once I was out of the gondola, I discovered that if I wasn't too hasty with my movements, I could actually maintain my balance well enough on my own. It was so refreshing, to realize my mobility again, and to understand with better depth that I was not, after all, going to die, wasting away slowly into nothingness.

How I could be getting better, though, I don't know... if the Spartan had somehow done something to heal me while I wasn't looking, though, I sure didn't know about it. Still, here I was, recovering swiftly from an injury I thought for sure would have been the end of me. I was happy!

But when I saw the Spartan, verily dragging himself forward, I half wondered if he didn't have a similar code to my own... it just went by another name. Honor, duty, justice... responsibility by any other name was still the same thing. I knew then what it had been that had exploded so noisily that G'wi had failed to explain to me before rushing back out to ostensibly help the Human out some.

He didn't look like he'd gotten that help quite in time, though.

G'wi trailed behind both of us, as we jointly walked wounded into the structure, the Human leading with his carbine and me without my weapons in hand at all. G'wi had his t-22 DERs both in hand, but that was fine. I didn't think he'd be encountering much that would need more firepower than that anyway, back there.

Though he was obviously suffering, the Spartan cut corners barrel first, tracing sightlines and slicing the pie as he cleared the room ahead.

The first one was empty, but the second had a full measure of freshly unloaded Covenant – oddly there was not a single Elite among them. Kig-yar stood ranks ahead of a squadron's worth of Unggoy, but I knew that hushed chittering sound.

Up above us in the rampways overhead, doubtless there was another swarm of Yanme'e, all rubbing their chitinous legs together and flapping their wings at intervals. Likely it kept their blood pumping, but it also gave away their position. Sure enough, when I looked up, I saw the familiar glinting of the bug's carapaces, those sparkling green eyes stenciled onto their wings and backs.

Strangely, though, not a single one came down as the first two Kig-yar went down... or rather up... in a gory explosion of a plasma grenade thrown at their feet beneath their shields. Only one got to complain, but true to the species the cry was more raspy and less pitched, so the sound didn't carry well even in the echo-prone cavernous chamber we were in.

There in the middle was the underwater carriage, clamped in and set, ready for the next passengers to get aboard. The Spartan cleared the last Unggoy with a carbine round to the head, and popped the magazine out to load a full one. The casing cracked against the wall behind him, and in that moment, with that sound, the Yanme'e decided it was offensive enough to come down from their perch.

I clawed my guns from their places latched to my hips, even as plasma fire streaked upwards from behind me. I rained needles at the swarm, and what missed initially ricocheted off the walls and ramp-ways up there and eventually hit something. Sizzling plasma made up for the needle's discrepancy, but even still some of the bugs got through.

I heard G'wi snarl something, but I was pretty sure it wasn't a word and I didn't understand its meaning, so I cast a glance in his direction. He extended both DERs in a crushing punch as he caused them to collide on opposite sides of an insectoid's head, before shoving the offending thing away and charging rather pointedly past me.

Instantly I suspected the Spartan had taken a bad hit, but instead of going to the Human, G'wi dove into the carriage. I heard the clamps release, but after that nothing happened as brilliant plasma fire splattered across the transparent crystalline steel windows on my side of the carriage.

Oh.

I strafed around a pair of weapons crates, looking for what had become of the Spartan, and on the opposite ramp up to the carriage's loading doors I found him. Plasma scoring from what looked like pistols had pock-marked all the flooring around him, but I supposed he wasn't sitting there huffing on his knees because he'd been shot just now.

Clamping my needlers to my thighs, I scooped my hands under his arms, and lifted. With the added pressures of nearly a ton and a half of Human powered armor, my middle exploded in fiery agony, but now he was back on his feet, and all I had to do was push on him, and he staggered up the ramp, the carbine hung by the grip and trailing after him.

Together we managed to pile into the carriage before it began to slide down the chute towards the water, but once in, he sagged into one corner and I into the other. G'wi looked at us both, before turning to the control interface, and activating the rest of the mechanism. The doors slid closed and sealed, and the graviton beam the thing followed latched on and sucked it the rest of the way down the chute into the water. When it hit, it jolted the carriage hard enough that it got a pained grunt out of not just me but the Spartan as well.

G'wi let the automatic mechanism go as it would, then, and turned to see us. "You both are more a mess than I have ever before seen in my life." He told us.

I gave him my best mirthless smirk.

My attention was averted, though, when I heard the oddest little noise. I looked around, then over at the Spartan, to find him quivering... and that was when it hit me. He was _giggling_ !!

_**SPARTAN 093 – FLINT **_

I hurt in more places than I thought was fair to claim ownership to. Still, there wasn't a whole lot to be done whilst trapped inside an underwater elevator... damn thing looked claustrophobic as hell. The only part that saved me that sense was how the walls between bracings were transparent, and one could see out what looked. The control interface was strange, but I'd seen it before – there was a subtle difference between the holographic user interfaces that the Forerunners had built and the ones the Covenant had built, being as the older race's tech tended to glow a soft, almost natural blue, where the Covenant's re-mastery of it all had a harsh, sharp violet glow. Probably something to do with the power source and how it all connected.

Couldn't be perfect all the time, right?

But that last line out of G'wi had been amusing, so I let myself giggle at them both for as long as I held the breath to do so. Once I needed to inhale again, though, I shut up... I hadn't forgotten my pain during my momentary episode of mirth, after all. For almost thirty full seconds – counted off on my running mission clock, so I know I'm not wrong – nobody said a word and none of us really moved. G'wi was the only one standing, but he wasn't moving. Anuna and I had taken a seat on the floor, and neither of us seemed any more inclined to get up than the other. He looked, I'm sure, worse than me, but that could be blamed on the fact that my armor was theoretically still atmospherically sealed and covered all of me, whereas his had a number of big holes for parts of him to poke out through... like his face.

Absently I poked at the jagged hole through my shoulder, wondering if Humanity even knew I was back alive again or not. Likely not, though, considering I hadn't had enough time to really make contact with them.

It would be so nice if I could just catch John.

The ride through the bottom of the lake actually took a solid fifteen minutes, but it seemed short indeed when the thing latched to the chute going up into the next structure and broke the water level on its way in. That jiggered motion stirred all my otherwise relaxed bones and made me grit my teeth – almost in tandem, I saw Anuna imitate my motion.

Gah, I needed a medic!

G'wi didn't say anything as he stepped first over us and then past us going out, taking his plasma rifles in hand once more to sweep the area. I was still a little amazed at his seeming willingness to go head to head with his own kind during a fight like the one the Covenant had against Humanity... or maybe he knew his people were in no danger of extinction like mine were and figured more people died every day from lightning strikes than he could ever kill in a single campaign.

Or something.

I dragged myself to my feet successfully before Anuna could, but he was between me and the exit, and it would have done me no good to do a spectacular face-plant trying to get past him while he was half-risen as he was. So I waited, watching him haul upwards and then stagger sideways out the elevator door and into a horribly inefficiently designed room. Why was there access all the way around the elevator? Either the Forerunners had never heard of a maintenance shaft, or they liked to waste space. I wasn't making any bets, though.

Unwilling to be left behind, I put one foot in front of the other, wishing vehemently for something to at least numb the pain as I followed Anuna out of the elevator. We made the doorless exit of the elevator chamber after G'wi almost together, but the split-chin got ahead of me at that point and left me in the back again.

I hated being in the back.

I looked around, noting the odd fern-like plant in the person-sized bucket sitting in the far corner, but there was no other entrance or exit to this room, barring the elevator chamber access and the following exit G'wi had taken.

Okay, bet placed; waste space.

This room was useless! There wasn't even any way to ostensibly garrison the place during an attack, because the doors were at a ninety-degree angle from one another! Beyond, though, there was more of the same – G'wi stood at the bottom of a broad, jointed stair, with one spread going straight down along one wall, then a landing that took the breadth of the room and corresponding to the other side of it, was another stair set that also went down. Theoretically, one could stand at the top of one stair and shoot all the bad guys coming up the bottom of the opposing side, without ever needing to move. The same could be said for the other side, which opened into another door.

I wondered where that went, but odds were good it attached to another underwater elevator, just like ours. I was also disinclined to figure it out for myself, because while I might could make it down those stairs, there was no way I was going to drag my carcass _up_ those stairs. They were sloped at a forty-five degree angle, which was gentle for a set of stairs, but cruel to one who was as beat up as I was.

So I began to step down the first flight...

_**HERETIC – G'WI 'CAERVASNEE **_

I felt a little apprehensive after I'd seen that first bullet-riddled carcass. Spread next to it was what remained of a Human, half-blown to hell and smeared where it wasn't still lumpy. That was gross. The blood was hard to distinguish, though... was it blue? Green? Red? Orange? It had all mixed, and where it hadn't, it still looked like a terrible paint-spill gone very wrong.

I stepped forward wondering what had happened – had the Humans attacked this place already somehow? I hadn't heard anything about a battle here on the net... but then I also hadn't been listening to it much, either. Now I did, and I kept my ear keen to any words that might tip me off to what I was seeing...

With a cautious look behind me, I saw that my two dragging companions had made it successfully down the first flight of steps, and were about to embark on the second, which would take them down to where I was standing. I didn't figure that a few strewn corpses would do them much harm, so I turned away and moved on. It was curious to me to note the sheer magnitude of the carnage before me, though. Somehow we had managed to kill enough time... that or this Ring-destroying Demon had a real knack for knowing just where to go to make the most mayhem.

Yes, I had seen those tracks before. It looked to me like my Spartan had gone and strode through this mess, leaving bloody smears and splatter marks all along the trail of footprints in that unmistakable pattern to suggest Mjolnir armor. Yes... the guy he'd been hoping to meet up with had definitely been here. But I was pretty certain that unless this defeated army had somehow managed to stop him shy of the far exit, he wasn't liable to still be here.

And if he was, he certainly wouldn't be any more alive than any of the rest of these carcasses. I stepped past the splayed heap of Mgaelekgolo worms that had decayed out of their armored carapace, wrinkling my nose at the smell. It all still was quite fresh, but there was just something about the worms of the Lekgolo that just couldn't seem to accept that at some point after their death, they ought to smell like a fresh kill. No, they always stank like they'd been dead for a whole week.

I had just stepped past the discarded cannon attachment when I heard the most spectacular slamming beat go thumping along behind me, followed by a startled yelp from what had to have been Anuna. My hearts leapt into my head, and I about spat them out. Once I had them swallowed again, I tried to turn an annoyed look behind me, but until one or the other of them rounded that last corner and entered the main hall I was in, I wouldn't see either of them. Grr.

Looking back, I could see the upper teir above where the stairwell chamber had been, and where we'd come through. Yanme'e carcasses were draped all across it like someone had been driving along at top speed through a swarm of them with the stair chamber's roof as their windshield, and had accumulated such a sticky mass of them before restoring the structure to its place.

Ichor oozed down the walls, certain to be a horror to get clean if ever anyone bothered to command it to happen. In fact... moving this many bodies out of a mainly underwater structure was going to be a real pain, regardless. Especially since there were a fair number of Honor Guard here – my species – and the cleaning crews were almost always Unggoy. Above me, the vaulted ceiling seemed the only thing here that had not been sprayed with blood from something, but even the upreaching spars had the occasional carcass draped across it. Those came from the bases at opposite sides of the main hall, and were leaned towards one another in pairs – they didn't touch at the top, but how they kept from drooping over the years was a mystery of Forerunner architectural genius.

It took a moment, but eventually I saw first my Spartan, and then Anuna emerge, and I thought for sure the human had a few more dents in his armored hide than he had had a moment ago... and when the thought hit me I couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"Sure, sure, laugh it up, squid face." The Spartan grumbled, coming forward. "But I get to laugh when it's your turn to fall down the stairs."

"Fair enough." I snickered. "Come on, everyone here is dead."

"I know, I recognized the style." He told me, nudging a Kig-yar that I had stepped over with the toe of his powered armored boot. "This is what you guys look like after John comes through."

"Who?" I asked, a little puzzled.

"Ugh. He's one of me."

"Oh, that. Yes, I saw some of your footprints. I figured it had to be this other of you, since obviously you hadn't been through this area yet." I told him. "Do you suppose he's after the same target that you are?"

The Spartan looked around, mirroring much of the carnage surrounding us in that golden visor, before looking back at me. "It's possible. He'd probably see it the same way I did."

"Well, since you wanted to catch him, now we know where he's going... you had better pick it up, shouldn't you?" I intoned, before turning away and marching across the field of dead towards the far end of the hall. The oversized holographic projector at one side of the center still projected Regret making his sermon, and I knew it was live footage – so if he was primarily undisturbed, it meant we had time.

And then the sermon stopped.

And the hologram screamed an obscenity at me.

"You dare interrupt my sermon!!" Regret's amplified voice thundered across the hall like a hail of cannon fire, jerking me from my thought train. A little alarmed that he knew what I was up to, I stopped and stared a little slackjawed up at the hologram.

"But..."

"Kill the Demon!" Regret commanded, indignance and arrogance in his raised voice.

I cast a look back at my Spartan. He was looking back at me. A moment later, he looked up at the hologram. "That thing live?"

"Incompetence! I'll kill it myself!" Regret screamed, toggling controls on the arm of his throne. I was almost convinced – convinced, that was, of my own impeding doom, and not that I ought to turn on my Human. I did, though, flinch when the defense cannon on the front of the Prophet's chair suddenly activated... but the projection only showed the first three inches of the beam that cannon emitted, as the hologram's emitters didn't go outward any farther than that.

"Looks that way to me." Anuna said, for me. "It's likely he'd command a live broadcast of his sermon for those who could not attend in person."

"This means your friend the other Spartan has met him already." I sighed. "Come on, we need to hurry. There's a network of tunnels and corridors connecting this hall to the other one, and on the other side of those is another gondola that connects to the temple. There's no way I know of to make a gondola move quickly, so we should probably try to make up the time lag before the ride."

The Spartan shook a fist at the hologram. "You trigger-happy bastard, that's _my_ kill!!" And with that, miracle of miracles, he did his best running trot for the far exit. I kept up a little better this time, seeing as he was dragging and I wasn't, but we did a fair imitation of leaving Anuna behind... until he realized this, and picked up his limping pace to try to keep up.

I felt sorry for him still, but at this point I was pretty well convinced that he would be mainly alright given time to recover his wits and his breath. Our constant harrowing ducking, dodging and shooting wasn't going to help him any, though.

We got past the butchered hall and through the corresponding corridors, all the way out to where the gondolas were hitched... and I was about to step aboard when I felt a hand with far too many fingers on it for it to be Anuna's grapple around my shoulder and haul me back. I staggered, off my balance, before I tried to turn around, but my head got pushed away – pointed mainly upwards, too.

So I looked...

"Forerunners!" I squeaked. A ship from overhead had opened up everything it had, raining hell onto that temple... it meant only one thing. Regret was dead, and likely so was most of his guard, but in about a heartbeat, so too would be the Demon... or more affectionately known, as John.

A moment later, the blast wave struck, and the stone beneath us crumbled, sending decking, gondola, and all three of us down into the lake along with all the shoreline, that temple, and everything it had contained.

_**HERETIC – ANUNA 'VADUMEE **_

I floated along in a sea of clouded thought and dream, utterly convinced that the blast had taken my life. A kind of ethereal cold had settled into my being, until I could feel nothing else – no pain, no numbness, no texture. Just cold. It was a little like all the world had gone away, weightless and formless, barring all substance, and I had found myself floating empty in a naked vacuum...

Was it like outer space? Being in freefall, without an atmosphere suit to insulate me? Well... not really. I was about to be convinced of that part when I felt something. It was a light brushing bump, like when two very solid items touch light as a feather during a submerged plummet.

It was like a switch had been thrown – panic set in, and I demanded all my sensory input organs report in. Eyes, start looking, skin, start feeling, tongue, start tasting, ears, start listening. And what I got was a rush of sensory overload, so the panic doubled tenfold, and I gave what had to be a spectacular flail.

Oddly, I didn't feel like I was going to drown, though I had just been told my face was completely covered with water. Had I blacked out with my breath held? That was a little odd. I wasn't about to start questioning my luckiness, though, not as yet. I fought around the edge of a falling hewn stone... likely the one I'd been standing on a moment before... and pushed away, swimming for all I was worth through the masses of falling, dropping debris. Current rushed around it all, too weak to affect a falling stone the size of a Seraph fightercraft, shoving the crushed rock dust around and making it hard to see.

The cold remained, though, and it kept me from feeling anything I had been plagued by a moment ago. Now I was in total control, and nothing was done that I didn't want to do. I saw something highly reflective, and surged for it, certain that that had to be the Spartan's visor. There really was nothing quite alike to that guy's helmet.

I caught something in the thick of the murk, but I couldn't see what it was even though my hands were telling me I was holding an angled, fluted cylinder. When this slipped a little from my grasp, I found a four-fingered one-thumbed hand on the end of it. Yes – definitely the Spartan.

The response from that hand was nil, though it appeared to still be attached to the rest of him... for the most part. I tugged back, paddling against the water and the falling debris for all I was worth, well aware I needed to get this hulk into a shallow place before he hit bottom, because there was no way I was going to be able to drag him through silt... and especially not going to be able to lift him from the water myself.

I needed him to do that – it was powered armor, but only from the inside. If he was going to go anywhere, he needed to do it himself. All I could do was make sure that when that happened, he'd understand which way was up.

A sharp turn in the eddies got my attention, though, and I looked up right as something long and thin roped across my sightline, between two of the uppermost falling bricks. I had no idea what that could be, but I didn't realize it wasn't an inanimate object until another one snaked through past my waist, as if probing.

Alarm surged through my veins, and instinct from my years as an Honor Guard kicked in; my sword clawed from my hip and flared to life beneath the waves, and snatching crackling lines of agonized electricity lanced through the water around me. Right as the unidentified rope of whatever it was coiled back around me, I sliced right through it, severing it off at an impotent length.

In retaliation, though, it came forward a lot farther, and coiled around me very tightly... the only part of me not entangled was my swordarm, and that was because I had yanked upwards to make the cut. One of the last of the stones above us caught on the length of line, and bore us all down before that unknown ropey thing yanked itself free of the rock and began to haul back, like a fishing line reeling in a catch.

I wondered where it was taking us, and if I could fight off whatever foe it might turn out to be, but what I did know was that while our trajectory was mainly across, we were also going upwards, too... and my lungs were beginning to burn. This thing, whatever it was, was somehow strong enough to haul the Spartan I was still hanging onto in an upwards direction, which was a good thing. I only hoped I could deal with it if it turned out to be an unsavory rescuer in the end once our heads broke the surface.

Finally, when we did, the first gasp of precious air turned out to be so thick and heavy that it made me choke worse than if I had inhaled a lungful of the water I'd just been dragged out of! Beside me, several more of the tendrils coiled around the Spartan, who remained limp even as he bled water out of every puncture and perforation his armor had taken over the course of the time I'd known him... as well as that big one in his shoulder I couldn't place a weapon for.

Gagging on the smoky air, I began to wildly flail about with my active sword, chopping the tendrils or cords or ropes or whatever they all were into very small bits. More came, but I chopped those, too. I had plenty of charge in my sword, and I wasn't sure if I had any guns with me anymore, and I didn't think I had time to check either. So I hacked and chopped and swung and flailed about, desperate not to be dragged into the lair of some random Ring-native fauna.

Finally, the tendrils stopped coming, with the pieces of them squirming beneath us, and I got to my feet and looked around for the first time. That was about when panic dumped a fifth load of adrenalin into my battered bloodstream. Flood pockets had bloomed like flowers all over the terrain here, with one or two sickly, dead-looking trees standing at odd angles to the ground. Rocks jutted like knives into the sky, the uneven ground rolling in hills and mounds that all looked watercut... and yet were so thickly coated by long, snaking ropes of Flood-growth that I half wondered if we already weren't within the beast.

A gust of air off the lake caught the spore-infested air, and blew it back for a moment, allowing me to clear my lungs and get in some real air. There didn't appear to be any combat forms around, but I knew what those pockets contained – infection forms didn't just come from carrier form Flood, after all! This was the pregnant proliferation grounds of a Gravemind.

And I was standing in the middle of it.

Or, actually... on its shoreline. My hand went to my helmet's comn unit, toggling the thing until I found a working frequency. Then I hollered mayday for all I was worth.

_**HERETIC – G'WI 'CAERVASNEE **_

Somehow, I managed to come ashore without trying. I found myself again in consciousness draped more or less over the rocks of a stream where it met the mouth of the inlet that attached to the lake. Or... what I assumed met the lake. I certainly didn't recognize much when I raised my battered head and looked around.

What I did see, however, I didn't suppose I liked too much. Ahead were tall, broken bluffs, and to the sides were jutting, water-polished, rounded stones as big as a Phantom or bigger. Waves crashed over everything, blotting out all hope of ever finding real dry land again, but I thought I recognized the overall formation of the area... having gone past it once already from the air without anything better to occupy my time had at last proved of use. But here I was...

And up above me, I could see the profiles of at least a half-dozen Jiralhanae. One, the one in front of the other five milling about, extended a thick arm out to the lake over my head, pointing. For a moment I thought he was pointing at me, and I froze, hoping to be mistaken for dead... perhaps one of the hapless Guard put around Regret in his final moments.

This macabre thought was only reinforced as my stomach tied itself into a tight, hard little knot at the next thing I saw. I let myself lay in the gently pulsing surf coming off the lake, my head turned aside as I surveyed what I could see from that position. After about thirty seconds of this practice, I saw another form come bobbing along in the waters, assuming my locale as its own...

It was, sadly, what remained of a poor, luckless Honor Guard, his golden armor scored, brackish and beaten, his body torn into a terrifying gamut. There was little left save his armor – what remained of it – to bespeak the fellow as anything more than a half-blackened, bloated, smashed piece of meat. As his destroyed carcass began to touch upon the same rocks I had, and settle there in the retreating tide, I recognized what might have been an eye, at one point, and a few broken teeth shoved up through the top of his skull along with a section of that corresponding mandible... disgusted and shaken, I turned away, unable to see more.

Whoever it had been, wherever he'd been... there was nothing remaining of him now. Though I could feel several of my newest bruises, I pulled myself out of the water anyway, and I staggered across the smooth, slick stones until I caught the foot of the nearest bluff. Looking up it, I noticed it wouldn't be too hard to climb – the surface was water-worn as hell, but it only made it textured to an extent that it would be easily traversable.

If I was in better health.

With a resigned sigh, and well knowing that if Jiralhanae had been up top that there was some easy bridging up there to use to get around, I took the bluff in hand and tried to get myself to climb it. I stood there holding it for a good six or seven minutes, though, before pulling the first set of muscles tight and hauling upwards.

I had been climbing for several long minutes, and felt I had possibly come about halfway, when a sound from below me caught my attention. Craning my head around, I looked back, to see three of the brutish creatures approaching my hapless companion... they gathered around his mutilated corpse, jabbering and talking loudly amongst themselves. I caught that they had seen me wash up, and had turned away in time to miss seeing that guy wash up, and since he was there and I was not when they arrived finally at the bottom to investigate my arrival, they assumed that that guy had been me.

Well, let them.

I turned back to the duty of climbing, and resumed. My hands ached so badly that I couldn't even cry, but by the time I had reached the top of the bluff, a whole other kind of mayhem had begun. Where the Jiralhanae had owned this bluff top when I had washed up, now it was empty. Up the ways I could hear the percussion sounds of a bladed launcher's grenades detonating, one after the other. I heard several of them overlapping, and underneath were the unmistakable sounds of a dozen or so splashing, sizzling plasma rounds.

What was going on? Had someone unleashed the Flood here, as well? Or was there a typical Jiralhanae mutiny going on, and someone wanted to be Chieftain who wasn't yet? Shaking my head, I gathered myself at the top of the bluff, and looked down past my knees.

"Oh, Forerunners, not more of this."

Sangheili combat shoe imprints decorated the dust overlapping the Jiralhanae pawprints left from earlier. I knew the tenuous relations my people had with those apes, oh yes. I had even witnessed a few scuffles between Elites and the scruffy animalistic creatures in the past. But from the tracks, there appeared to be only one here... which explained why the Jiralhanae felt competent to get away with killing him... and there were absolutely no _approaching_ tracks... only departing ones.

What the graul was going on??

Hauling myself to my hooves, I steadied myself a little, then wandered down the incline atop the bluff I had just crested, meaning to investigate this nonsense. I got pretty near to the fighting, when the sky lit up with a hell-for-leather scream. Pausing to look up past a natural stone arch overhead, I counted seven Covenant drop-pods.

Drop pods?

Now I was _really_ confused!! Moving up to a trot, I approached what I felt was probably the beginnings of a sightline, the ground sloping ever downward until it suddenly cut off into another water-cut cliff face. A path had been carved around the side, though, leading upwards about halfway to the top of the cliff ahead of me. Surrounded by the emptied pods, I found myself looking up at that ledge, and at a Forerunner crafted door as it slid shut behind the backs of what could only have been Sangheili warriors.

I felt so mixed, standing there... I was a heretic. I yearned to go and talk to them, to see what was going on. Mauled and mangled and bullet-riddled bodies of Jiralhanae lay strewn in all places around me, fouling the air and marring the otherwise tranquil landscape... and my people seemed to be moving through them in military formation.

I turned, and looked back, noting the cut in the bluff walls where the sky opened to the lake, and in the distance I could almost see the smoldering wisp of the temple in the distance. That lake was a hive of such structures, but the temple was the only one that was smoking. I sighed. There was no way I could ever find either of my two unfortunate companions in that mess... if either of them had had the misfortune of surviving our last stunt, like I had.

With a sad sigh, I turned to the side path, and followed it upwards around the curl of the cliff face upwards. At the top, I paused to note the only fallen Elite the battle in this place had managed to create... and I wondered if he had died in combat, or been put out of his wounded misery by a fellow Elite.

Shaking my head, I turned to the Forerunner door. As it slid back to permit me entrance, and I strode through it into the underground complex it protected, I couldn't help but have a sinking feeling that I was stepping through the widening lips of a great and gaping maw.

Interesting feeling, I tell you... presuming that oneself is a food item.

_**HERETIC – ANUNA 'VADUMEE**_

I had nothing but my sword. I kept it clutched to my chest, deactivated, hoping my deathgrip didn't crush the crystalline contact technology the hilt harbored. I had seen exactly one crawly Flood part so far, but it had been at a distance and had not ventured near me. I didn't have the slightest hope of fending off a horde inside the nest of a Gravemind, not if I was even half right about where I thought I was.

And that I couldn't even get the damned Human to stir or groan by _kicking_ him was slightly distressing. Had I gone to the trouble of rescuing and then sitting guard over what would turn out to be a dead carcass? Would he care, if his body was abandoned in the middle of a Flood-infested territory? If he had died on me, I was by no means going to sit there like a fool and guard his carcass.

Though... in the case of the Flood, having an augmented Flood combat form with powered armor on coming after me really didn't seem all that appealing, either. I just couldn't do much about it. And holding ground against the Flood was hard when we had had armies to do it with – all alone with only a sword to fight with, I was pretty much easy meat, and I was pretty sure both of us – myself and the Flood – knew it.

But where was everybody? The battlenet was a mess, people screaming on all channels, sometimes six and seven people per channel at any given moment... people of all walks of the universe, even. I was pretty sure I had heard a Human voice or two in the cacophony, but it was hard to be sure.

So I had begun trying hard just to make sense of which ones were which. Finally, I found one where there appeared to be only two or three voices on it, and they all appeared calm enough... though nothing any of them said sounded nice or civil. They weren't arguing – it was more that they were all aware of the mess the rest of the Covenant was in. So I interrupted them;

"Delo five-oh, you've got a thirty minute window to get in, get out, and get the – "

"Listen, don't mean to interrupt if it's important, but I'm in a bit of a spot." I piped up. "Do any of you three see my transponder, by any chance?"

"Who was that?" The third voice asked, sounding shocked. "Who is this, identify yourself!"

"Easy, 'Halhanee, you've got inbound on the port flank. Looks like a squadron of Banshees." The second voice put in. "Focus on that flight pattern, you've a dozen cliff sides not to hit."

"Identify yourself, stranger." The first voice added.

I couldn't help but smirk just a little at the mental image of a dozen cliff faces surrounding a panicked pilot who was also beset by enemy airpower. "This is Honor Guard Anuna 'Vadumee, I got dumped into the lake when the fleet vaporized the Prophet of Regret's temple, and I've washed ashore in the worst possible place."

I got dead silence.

Worried, I added, "Hello?"

"Anuna?" One of them asked, sounding slightly puzzled... and like he knew me.

Unable to think of anything else to respond with, I answered, "...yes?"

"What are you doing here?" Came the following correspondence. "You were on High Charity just the other day! Did you get requisitioned to Regret's compliment?"

I tried to find a face to go with the voice I was hearing, certain now that if he knew me than I ought to, in turn, know him too. I couldn't. "No, I was actually tracking the outskirts of the lake..."

"Forerunners be praised for that, then, 'Vadum, you've a lucky streak."

"Not right now I don't." I argued. "Look, I'm standing on Flood right now, can I get a ride with you or what?"

"Love to, 'Vadum, but I'm too far out of the way – and we're dodging some pretty heavy fighter fire over here."

"Anyone else? How many of you are airborne?" I begged, desperate not to feel helpless.

A fourth voice piped in very suddenly. "I see them. I'll pick them up and make rendezvous in half a cycle." This one was deeper, more gravely... and sounded a lot more familiar.

"You see me?" I asked, suddenly, jerking to my hooves and looking all around me. Right then was when I finally spotted my first combat Flood form. "Ho _crap_!" And then it dove right at me.

"Why is that a bad thing? I thought you wanted to be found, Anuna." Said the new voice, even as the comforting pulsing heartbeat of a hovering Phantom reached my ears.

I dodged the leap at my head, and brought my sword around and down behind it, cutting through the lower back and severing off the thing at what had once been hips. Gah... the form was built out of the remains of a Human! Once it was down and squirming impotently, I stuck the points of my sword down through the chest cavity to break the riding infection form inside.

"Oh, I think I see what you mean now." Said the pilot of the Phantom as it nosed through the spore-infested murk towards us. I stuck my brightly glowing sword in the air to signal it, and waved it a little.

"Hurry up, the Flood just found me!" I complained, irritably. "Drop your grav lift."

"Hold on... alright, it's down."

I looked at that, as the violet energy stream splashed down over a dozen meters away... there was no way I was capable of dragging that Spartan that far. I needed to get the lift to come closer to me, instead. So I swung my sword down and around me, feigning to be in a fight with more combat forms...

And was much surprised to feel when my sword bit into something solid. Alarmed I had just decapitated G'wi's Spartan upon his awakening, I turned on my heel to see what I had done... and reflexively jerked away when I found a Sangheili Flood form in my face, reeking spores all over me. I let out a howl of both fright and surprise as I staggered backwards from my second – and this time very lucky – kill. As it dropped, it revealed more than a thousand just like it, Jiralhanae, Human, Sangheili, even Unggoy basis on their deformed, mangled bodies.

"AAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!"

Almost as soon as the sound was out, a stream of sucking, pulsing, vibrating violet energy surged around me, lifting me off the ground right as those newcomers clawed at my retreating hooves... and before the lift had finished sweeping, it had lifted four of the reaching Flood forms and then sucked up the Spartan as well.

Try as I might, I could do nothing to alter my position until the lift had deposited me inside the bay of the Phantom – and I carefully hacked all the invading Flood forms into pieces as they each came up. When the Spartan appeared, I retracted my arm, cautious of hamburguring the wrong being. I spared a moment to drag him aside as far as I possibly could manage, then I manually reopened the sealed lift ring and shoveled out all the offending Flood ich.

And it certainly was ich.

I felt the Phantom tip over, so I used the axis turn to haul G'wi's Spartan over to that wall, and harness him in so he wouldn't tumble about. Once these tasks were completed, I scooped my sword from the floor, hooked it on my belt, and stepped quickly for the pilot's pit.

I ducked through the door, and slipped down instantly into the copilot's seat, where I buckled in before looking over at my rescuer. I paused.

"Rtas!"

I got a half-smirk – the best he could offer – in reply. "Fancy finding you out here, little brother."

I exhaled, long and slow. I hoped he never took a look in the back... "I... haven't heard a lot. I do know the Humans have come again. One ship, just as before. They brought the Demon."

He snorted. "That is the least of our problems, little brother. The Hierarchs have turned on us... the Councilors were slaughtered and the Covenant is breaking. Humans, pheh. No, we have bigger problems to deal with. I was on my way back to my fleets when the news struck. I couldn't make it, so I turned back to see what I could do here."

"I am honored." I gushed, feeling very inappropriate. It wasn't often I got to see my elder sibling – and even rarer that we got to actually talk during said rare visits. But the mentality didn't last long, even though I still felt overwhelmingly lucky to have not had to fight my way through a billion Flood forms all while dragging a dead Spartan behind me. My head lowered as I thought about what I had to say.

"Is something wrong, Anuna?" Rtas questioned, casting me a glance.

Blowing a sigh, I went ahead; might as well. He'd find out sooner or later, best be if he were warned. "I have... captured one of the Humans."

"Where did you leave it?" Rtas asked.

"He is... in the back of this Phantom." I looked up, then, seeking some reaction.

I was disappointed; "Huh."

"It is one of their best – a Sp... I mean, a Demon."

That, though, earned me a look. "A sp?"

I swallowed. "They call themselves Spartans, brother, I had grown accustomed to the term after a while of toting him around."

Again, he just grunted.

"Will you be returning to the fleet, Rtas?"

"Why did you capture a Human elite, Anuna?" Rtas countered, dodging my own question. "They are best left dead or alone."

I didn't know how to answer, honestly. "I don't even know if he's alive anymore." The admission came out sounding a little too much like I really cared. Gah... did I? It was news to me! I made a mental note to start communicating with myself a little more. I had too many secrets I just didn't know about, if this sort of thing could crop up. "I am... minorly wounded, myself, I suppose. The blast that broke our footing and sent us into the water was not the extent of our woe. I had a fellow with me then. He didn't wash ashore where we did, though."

"Probably dead, then. I saw some of the collapse when it occurred." Rtas mused. "How did you manage to keep custody of one of the Human elite? I was always told they fight until they are dead, regardless of the circumstances."

"This one... had ... incentive." I managed, weakly.

Again, I got a look. Rtas didn't appear convinced. "You are not telling me everything, little brother." He accused. "Why do you have one of the Human elite, and why are you keeping him?"

I inhaled. "I wasn't... not really. G'wi was. They were... together when I found them." Not entirely true, but not at all false, either. "Rtas, there is something you should know."

"Did I not just mention this?" Rtas asked, sounding speculative – and sarcastic.

I sighed at him, unappreciatively. "Elder brother, you must listen. I broke my oath to the Covenant when I took the Spartan from the custody of High Charity. He, G'wi and I left the vessel in a Phantom without departure orders or permission, and when we discovered the location of the Prophet Regret, our intent was to find him and kill him."

Rtas actually hiccupped... it was a first in several years, for him, I knew. But he amended his slack jawed expression soon enough, and asked, "So... did you...?"

Astounded out of my skull, I could not have told a lie had I wanted to. "No. The other Demon got there first."

He nodded, again recomposed and cool. I rather envied the talent. "Rtas...?"

I got a glance, only.

"What is going on?"

"The Covenant has broken. Jiralhanae... brutes... have been commanded to cast us out. Fighting has broken out all over the fleets, including here, on the Ring. In some places, we win. In others... they do. The Covenant is tearing itself apart. We have been betrayed, Anuna... it was good you got out when you did, though I regret your timing left you bereft of this information."

I nodded, feeling sick suddenly. I'd been kicked hard enough to cough up my stomach, allowed to sit for long enough to determine I required sustenance – which I never got ahold of – and then recently attempted to drown somewhat. I felt reasonably excused from needing to explain why I felt sick.

Even though I knew it had really little to do with my physical innards.

"I will drop you and your... Spartan... at the rendezvous point. The Arbiter has vanished – we think he was killed by the leader of the Jiralhanae. I will be making a second attempt to rejoin my flagship and my fleet, once you are safely delivered aground." He sighed, adding, "I do wish you'd take better care of yourself, brother... if mother were around she would worry herself to death all over again."

I hung my head. "What do we plan to do? As Elites, I mean, since we're apparently nolonger welcome within the Covenant."

He shrugged. "I will know more once I am back with my fleet. I do know that Truth and Mercy's plans to activate the Halos very soon are still in place... Truth and Mercy themselves were last seen on the move, heading for the city center at the installation beneath High Charity's orbit point. I believe they mean to take refuge within the Forerunner starship... may the gods help us if they choose to fly off with the thing."

I rubbed my mandibles, and then my eyes, wanting a bath and a meal and somewhere to sleep soundly for a few years. "Will you let me know if you hear about G'wi...? He was... a friend."

Rtas nodded. "If I hear anything." He toggled the landing controls, letting me know we had arrived by the motion. "Alright, this is where you and I part ways, little brother." He turned to me fully, then, as the Phantom finished descending and settled into the still. "I will expect to see you again. Alive, preferably."

"And the human?" I asked, tentative.

"We will attend to such petty matters when they become relevant, Anuna. Do not trouble yourself so. I do not think we will execute him outright... he could be used to barter accompaniment out of his kind for the duration of that idea."

"Accompaniment, brother?" I asked, puzzled.

"Humans. They fight bravely, with honor as profound and alien as has ever been seen... but still they fight. It is a passing thought among my peers, Anuna... to bribe them somehow into taking some of the brunt while our people pull ourselves together. It is not kind... but perhaps it will work."

"They hate us." I reasoned.

"But they are not unreasonable, and any rift in the Covenant that had so shattered their lives would be long cherished, I can well imagine." Rtas countered. "You are young." He reached across the pit and rested a hand on my shoulder. "Get your armor changed into something that isn't broken, get wiped off and something to eat in you. There is still much fighting to be done, and I will need you to help me direct them. Can I count on you, little brother?"

I felt like he'd just heaped a starship onto my back. Numbly, I nodded. "Until my final breath." And hopefully... that breath wouldn't be too soon.

He smiled a half-missing smile at me, but both eyes sparkled. "I will see you again when it is done, little brother. In the meantime... you must go now." He retracted his arm, so I slipped out of the cockpit and unhitched the Spartan from the harness where I'd left him. He curled up into an unceremonious heap on the floor of the Phantom, thumping heavily down without ever appearing to have woken, but I kicked him over into the grav lift anyway, and descended with him to the ground.

Here a command camp of sorts had been set up, with part of it embedded within a Forerunner facility that had been blockaded off at all the other exit points. As I collected myself off the top of the Spartan, several of the sentinel Elites strode over to investigate the strange heap of tangled Mjolnir armor at my hooves.

All of them, though, leapt back upon realization that it was a Spartan.

One ventured, "Is it dead?"

Another asked, "Why did you bring that thing here?"

I rolled him onto his back with a push of my hoof. "Because the hope is that he's _not_ dead, and he has his uses – and they are many. Get me something to move him with. He's damn heavy and I'm very tired." I watched as two of the few that had gathered departed to procure something of what I had asked for, then turned my head back the other way to watch as my brother's Phantom turned in the sky and flew away into it, seeking a hole in the furball going on up there within which to insert himself so he could gain access to his flagship.

I only hoped he could make it there intact and alive... not only did they need his command and guidance, I felt I would be rather distressed to realize my brother's death so soon after his ascendance to Fleet Master.

I followed the Spartan into the re-purposed Forerunner corridors, and saw to it he was not treated unduly harshly before they sealed him behind a force-field where even if he awoke in top notch condition he'd never be able to get out. Then I went and procured for myself what I had been longing for, for so long.

Ah... food was never more good than in the middle of a terrible battle.

I ate exactly one bite.

And then I puked it onto the rest.


	5. Hero To Some

_**SPARTAN 093 - FLINT**_

I wanted to die.

I wasn't terribly in a mood to change my mind about it, either. Pain assaulted every nerve I owned, as well as the gods-awful crushing weight of the depleted un-powered powered armor suit I wore. Currently, it felt more like it was wearing me. I felt every woe, every lack, every deficit I had ever known, all the crushing, burning, knifing, rending agonies of a thousand past battles. It was almost as if every little scratch or scuff I had ever endured had been rewoken to annoy me once more.

I couldn't curl up, I couldn't hardly breathe, and I certainly couldn't move anything if I even still owned that capability. Water had filled in through every puncture and perforation - the big one notwithstanding - that I had accumulated, and at long last, the suit had stopped working. I was staring up through a darkened, blank visor without a HUD to look at or even the delightfully annoying spectrum focus that allowed the visor to darken or lighten depending on the external light source.

I was, as far as I could tell, blind.

All I could tell was there were tears of aggravation streaming out of my irritated eyes, but try as I might I could neither lift my arms to remove the helmet nor even get at my face to claw the irritation out of them. Worse... the more time went by, the less air would seep through the filters on the helmet, and there was certainly none coming in from behind my jawline anymore.

My armor was spent, broken beyond redemption, and I was going to die - quite possibly of asphyxiation - if I couldn't get out of it. But it didn't worry me too much that there were no SPARTAN-project technicians, no doctors who knew how to detach the various parts of the armored combat skin, and it didn't even bother me that each breath had less value than the last to my oxygen-starved system.

It was making me lightheaded as hell, but that only made some of the agonizing pain go away... so I felt inclined to let it go. I wanted it to stop - I'd had all I could take, and I was damaged beyond repair. I wanted to die, and curse my augmented systems but it was happening too darned slowly to really give me any relief. I hurt, and each breath pained me more than the last, to the point where I almost considered holding it for long enough to fully establish that realized lack, and finally, blessedly, pass away.

I was so out of it I didn't even realize until the searing, scalding, burning cold clawed all the flesh from my face and glued it back on with dry ice. The shock was sudden, accompanied by a thousand stinging lights that each shone brighter than a hundred suns combined. My gag reflex kicked in almost as soon as I let go of the held breath I had, and I coughed so hard it caused my whole person to jerk spasmodically. This, in turn, gave me a strange combined feeling of squishy, liquid entrapment and hardened, steel-alloy caging. Like I had been banded by iron and then thrown into the sea.

Fingers traced across my neckline, fingers I vaguely recognized, but even as they brushed past and caught in the locking mechanism that opened the chest armor, my battered brain twirled off on some other, unimportant thought train. Water gushed past my throat in a sodden rush of humidity and heat, but once it had thinned to a saturated level that made the undersuit stick to my skin, it chilled out to almost freezing.

I shivered.

I felt all the little hairs across the breadth of my hide prickle and sting as if a soft acid had been applied just underneath the cutaneous layer, so that it burned but only to annoy. In the span of my next breath, I almost heard it go in, past the rushing, heady pounding that had clogged my ears. Sinking inward, I half wondered what that sound really was... was it the approaching footsteps of a Scarab tank? Was it the pulsating heartbeat of a hovering Phantom? Or was it just me... alone, wherever the hell I was, being slowly pried piece by piece out of the shattered, broken, dismal remains of a once-proud suit of Mark-IV Mjolnir armor?

Eh... how was I supposed to know? That alien, burning cold had crept into my bones, every last augmented one of them, and that was a kind of pain I was terribly unfamiliar with. Still, despite my utter lack of a grasp on lucidity, I couldn't seem to let myself let go, clinging stubbornly despite all my wishes to the contrary to consciousness, so I heard it... I heard it... I heard when that strange, warped sound bled through the pounding rhythm in my head.

I knew my eyes were open... but I never saw the source.

_**HERETIC - G'WI 'CAERVASNEE**_

For the first time in my life, I found myself in a unique position. Indeed, it was quite unique indeed. In following the Arbiter's path and seeing the heaps and droves of dead and the pools and splash marks of blood, I had begun to lose count. Sangheili warriors had died among the scores of enemy, but they appeared few and far between. Grenade scoring marked one doorway, the door itself jammed on a piece of debris in the track it rode. I doubted it would ever work quite right again, but in the meantime, I had to wonder where the Arbiter thought he was going.

In my head I did a quick run-through of the map in my head. I had heard about these catacombs, if in fact they were as much and not merely randomized tunnels dug by bored Forerunners. If he kept going like he was, choosing the paths he was choosing, and he didn't take any sudden unexpected tilts in trajectory, he'd wind up just outside the Control Room's main entrance.

The problem with that was that while going on foot through this maze wasn't that ludicrous, thinking that he could just poke his thumbs into the air and have a conveniently passing Phantom pick him up for the last leg of the journey rather was. The Control Room was, after all, elevated some eight or nine hundred meters above sealevel, and it was kind of a good ways off shore.

So it left the question... did he think he could waltz through all these troops and not send up warnings to whomever he thought he was following? I shuddered as I passed the mutilated remains of what had once been a minor Chieftain... likely one of Tartarus' lieutenants.

Jiralhanae moved in clans, or so I had heard, and they liked it that way. So their social hierarchy was based on who had whose blood, and not who had the greatest, most notable accomplishments. It was a twisted version of a working society, but apparently it worked for them, because the infighting was relatively minimal... or it was now, anyway, now that the species had been integrated into the Covenant.

Speaking of which, what exactly had the Arbiter hit his head on? Why was he fighting and killing creatures of the same Covenant to which he pledged his own loyalties? Had there been some major uprising that I was unaware of? It seemed unlikely... I was seeing Jiralhanae, Yanme'e, even Unggoy lying dead, here, all of them in apparently defensive positions. Ahead, I spied my first splatter that had once been a Kig-yar. They, too, had died braced against a garrison. So the Arbiter was obviously the aggressor, here... but there was Mgaelekgolo cannon scarring all over the walls in a dozen places in each room.

I had only seen one fallen heap of defeated worms, thus far. It had been face-down, pointed against a rank of Jiralhanae, all fallen in poses to suggest they had been facing that Hunter when it fell. I looked around as I stepped through what felt like the hundredth cell block. All the cells' field doors were down, even the ones up top. Weapon's crates lay in haphazard positions across the floor, one of which had fallen across the front of the door I was fixing to pass through. A rather sinister chill feeling crept into my bones and seeped from them into my blood as I surveyed the room once more.

What exactly was going on?

I put my hands on the back of the crate blocking the door, and slid up onto it on my knees, but I didn't even need to touch it to toggle the thing to open. Once it was out of the way, I slid off the other side of the crate, and began to sprint up the corresponding corridor. I needed answers - either the former Fleet Master of the Fleet of Particular Justice had gone completely off his rocker, or something much worse than one looney Arbiter was afoot.

What was worse... I could smell Flood.

For each corner I turned, through each chamber and intersecting room I traversed, the trailing scent of decay and sickness seemed to reach after me like tendrils of a soft ocean weed. I didn't know what it really meant, but I felt I really didn't want to find out - if I ever did, I imagined I'd prefer not to dwell on the idea overmuch.

I spent the following two hours chasing the ghosts that preceded me - the Arbiter was not alone in his madness, that much was clear. Every great now and again I'd come across the fallen form of a warrior of my own species, and it would be riddled with the munitions of those around it that had also fallen. This meant that while they as a whole were outmatching their enemies, my quarry was most definitely a plural form of they... rather than singular.

Though by the point at which I made it to the outer landing where the underground passageways erupted out the side of an elevated cliff wall, I was utterly convinced that the Arbiter must be out of companions by now! Of the crew that could come down in the drop pods I had seen outside the other end of this maze, there were an equal number of fallen warriors. Yet... singlehandedly mastering another eight of the brutish Jiralhanae in what did not look like a surprise attack?

The shells of armored skin from obliterated Lekgolo had also been in plenty. A good four pairs of match-twins, fully before the final platform - which was empty, I noted sourly - came into view. Had warriors and hunters been held captive in those holding cells, along the path? Their door fields were all deactivated... perhaps any prisoners they might have held were now loose, and fighting alongside their rescuer, adding to his madness?

I stood to the left of the outermost fallen, a Jiralhanae, and looked out over a water-cut canyon that threaded outward in a snaking, branching manner. The slices cut to the waterline some two or three thousand meters dead ahead, but it also wavered to my left as well as a narrow fissure cutting the wall on the right. That crack likely didn't go very far.

I cocked my head as I listened to the ruckus echoing up the canyon at me, trying to place that sound. There was a faint, underlying staccato of Banshee and Specter fire, that much I was certain of. But the big noise, that loud, drawn-out roar accentuated with what sounded like the footfalls of a giant... what was that? Where had I heard it before?

Oh.

Right.

Scarab.

Aw, _crud._

_**REBEL - ANUNA 'VADUMEE**_

Things did not look very good. I wasn't sure just how to take what had happened thus far, but I did have a fairly complete situational report to go on. It seemed my class - that of Honor Guard - had been completely handed over to the Jiralhanae, almost directly after the explosion of Regret's temple. It seemed odd that the vessels of the Covenant would shoot down one of their own leaders... had it been a Sangheili Ship Master that had somehow managed to misfire? Or was the truth a bit more obscure, and the idea that the Demon had actually killed Regret seconds before the fleets opened up on the temple really real? With as many things spinning so wildly out of control, it was no wonder the results of the hasty actions had caused so much fallout... the exchange of hats had made the High Council members angry, especially the Sangheili ones, and the next thing that happened was their number was trimmed... quite permanently.

In reaction to this, apparently, all the rest of the Sangheili armada had revolted in protest, and then when the Jiralhanae came down to hunt them down and force them back from wherever Truth and Mercy had gone off to, the real fighting had begun. Now Sangheili and Jiralhanae were killing one another in open combat for the first time in at least three hundred years. For some, it was a relief, for others, a newfound bother. Even I knew our two species had never gotten along well, but it was nice even to me to know that I nolonger had to play nice and turn my back wondering if that simple trust - that it would not be stabbed - would or would not be betrayed. Having an openly declared enemy was always so much easier to stomach... yet so much harder to actually deal with.

This was not the extent of the problems, though. Word was some Flood spores had gotten loose... it seemed a trend. Find a Ring, free the Flood. Well, this time it seemed to know just exactly what it was after, though... and word was also that it had begun to try to take residence on High Charity. That place was big, but it was still a starcraft, and that meant the Flood was now mobile, for all intents and purposes.

It seemed my little beaching and the discovery of the breeding field upon it was just the tip of the iceberg... little Human saying I picked up.

Speaking of Humans... there was suddenly a very terse relation going with them. We had quit attacking them, because it was one more way we could snub those who had once been our leaders and had betrayed us to the brutes. This, in turn, had caused the Humans to contact some of our own leaders and open a dialogue. While this kept us from stepping on each other's toes overmuch, it did not make a truce, nor did it make an alliance.

That, I heard, was unlikely... although word... always word... was that the Arbiter had commandeered the aid of one of the higher ranking Humans to finish his own little mission, which at present was to thwart one of the dispatches of Jiralhanae from activating the installation we all were sitting pretty on.

At the time I had no idea what that action really meant, but it was common opinion that if the Prophets wanted it, then we did not, and we would give them trouble over it. So... that's about how it went. I was not really privy to the Arbiter's actual driving thoughts, and apparently neither were some of those who he spoke to. Word also came back that my brother had not, in fact, made it through the furball after he'd left me at the base camp. After taking some damage to his Phantom, Rtas had turned back, and was in the canyon bluffs somewhere outside where the Ring's control room was positioned.

That was more or less where the Arbiter had gotten off to, so I rather imagined the two had likely met up, and between the two of them and whatever forces they could scrounge together they would be able to handle whatever was thrown at them... unless someone found a Scarab tank or someone decided to bomb them from orbit.

In either case...

Speaking of Humans.

I was sitting rather boredly on a ledge crosswise of the entrance with my hooves propped on their frogs and my elbows on my knees. My head in my hands, I felt quite comfortable, and could sit there like that for hours. However, I had already been there like that for several, and as a result, I was beginning to twitch... I was very unused to being so idle, so still, for so long a time span.

My gaze had not wavered much from the collapsed form before me, sprawled on the floor and looking very pale and very dead. The only thing speaking otherwise was the obvious motion of inhalation of breath. G'wi's Spartan was not doing well. Whatever had happened to him during the explosion and following plunge, it had been hard on him... that or given unquestionable circumstances in which he was not allowed to choose to keep marching, he had finally fallen on his face.

Given the nature of his outward condition, I did not doubt that his inward condition was too much better. Still... lying there in nothing but a black skinsuit not unlike my own, he looked quite small and defeated. It was not a fitting end for a warrior like him... and I felt sad to see him like that.

But he wasn't one of us... he was Human. And I had considered his condition before telling the others in the camp how to treat him. He might be a pushy son of a b!tch, a little presumptuous around the edges, and all around pain in the ass, but he had still given us a good view of how he looked at the world and why. So despite how every fiber in my being was telling me to put him out of his misery, I didn't.

I didn't, because he hadn't, when it had been me, lying like he was. He'd looked at me as something worth saving, something he could protect for long enough for me to get back on my hooves... there was no shame in returning that favor. In fact, it was better fitted to me doing this to him than vice versa, seeing as how we each had developed our cultural reactions based on who and what we were... my being Sangheili Elite, it was with good and solid reason why a fallen warrior who lived still yet would only die slowly would be killed by his own kin. In turn, I imagined there was some good reason why a fallen Human warrior would be dragged back to base and left to lie and recover... perhaps that was one of their virtues.

That they _could_ recover.

Given time, given opportunity, given circumstances other than injurious combat, perhaps a Human would heal over, the blood would stop, the breaks would mend, and then they would get back up again, and with fresh armor on, go back.

It might explain why we had developed the policy of going back over a battlefield and poking all the carcasses with our swords to make _sure_ the dead Humans were really dead, and not just pretending to be dead while they rested. Though, despite that... I had to say... this guy really did look dead.

While not terribly familiar with the manner and form of the mammalian, hirsute creatures we had fought for thirty years, I knew that of the hundreds of Humans I had seen, both in person and on the war channel, hardly none of them wore nearly transparent skin. They came in a variety of shades not terribly unlike my own people - from deep, dark chocolate brown that looks black in full sun to a tawny, bronze peach color. Some had freckles, others wore none. But this one... had he seen a single day of sun in his life? I had seen skin like his only once before, on an unfortunate Kig-yar who had spent its entire existence aboard a starship... due to an utter lack of exposure to any kind of real radiation, the pigment and lanolin had never darkened, and on that creature one could actually see the organs through the skin.

This guy wasn't quite that bad. It was as if he had been sunned as a child, but shut away... was it within that suit of Human powered armor?... forever afterward, and his body had only that brief exposure of tinting to work with. He was pale, very pale... and he looked drawn and thin as well.

Exhaustion had written itself into his very features - to the point where not even one so alien to his kind as I could miss it. He'd pushed himself, that much was certain. He'd pushed, and he'd reached, and he'd tried so hard to make that final finish line... all for the cause of a dying people. His people.

It came as some small surprise, then, when he turned his head partway, and then squinted.

"Welcome back to the land of the living." I greeted, for some reason feeling depressingly jovial despite everything that had happened - and despite what I was looking at.

He turned that frowning squint towards me, then. After tasting his lips, he asked, "Huh?"

I laughed. "Are you awake, then, and ready to return to battle?"

He groaned, and looked away. "Can it wait another five minutes?"

After giving that query considerable thought, I offered, "Sure?"

"Good." He pulled his arms in, and patted himself over in a few places, before turning his head back around to look at me. Without him squinting, it was then that I noticed his eyes were a very soft shade of dove gray... and the faint fuzz covering his scalp was either a matching shade of the same color or it was a tawny blonde instead. It was too short to really tell... "Where's my suit?"

I offered a lopsided grin... maybe he would recognize it, maybe he wouldn't. "Why does it matter? It's broken beyond repair and in more pieces than its maker intended."

He slid a hand up to the hole in his shoulder, where the meat looked cauterized... and almost as if it had permanently healed that way. "Damn."

"You are very lucky that everything has gone to hell, Spartan." I told him, lifting my head and twining my fingers. "My people have apparently decided to part ways with the Covenant, and as such, we are now at war with it. Your people have decided this makes us good candidates for a treaty."

He grunted.

I continued; "As such, the warmasters asked whether it would be wise to craft you a new set of armor in which to fight, since you will most likely be pitched against the remaining Covenant and not us."

He looked at me again.

"I told them yes."

"Either you're insane or I'm dreaming." He decided.

"Yes, it's possible." I nodded. "Or, I could be telling the truth, and you're wide awake, in which case you're about to embark on a whole new version of trouble than what you just departed from." I shrugged. "Makes little difference to me. Way I see it... you haven't killed me yet, nor had you taken arms against G'wi... so since no warrior should be forced into battle for his cause in his undersuit, I opted to convince them to craft you new armor."

One corner of his mouth quirked up... I wondered what it meant. But I did catch the amused look in his eyes.

"I can just imagine what your people will say when you turn back up, not only alive but wearing Sangheilian armor..." I pretended to do a dramatization of a musing posture.

He actually laughed.

Looking back down at him, I added, "Oh, no! It's an Elite!" I feigned terror, waving my arms as I adopted an exaggerated look on my face. "It's going to get meeee!"

There was this odd little noise... not a honk. Not a grind... I've heard this word for it, but I don't really remember what it is. He was making it.

"Wait, what's this?" I asked, still playing. "Hey! It's a Human! No, it _can't_ be, it's an Elite! Look at it, it's wearing Sangheili armor!"

I remember now... they call it a _snerk_. He was either going to kill me very shortly or he was laughing so hard he couldn't breathe anymore... in either case, I paused my iteration and looked passively at him until he calmed enough to actually let out an audible chuckle.

"I know." I extended a finger and slung my arm at him, so I made the pointed indication of whom I was speaking of without maintaining the position. "It's a _Human Elite_."

He ran a hand over his face, and gave me a very foreign look I had never seen on a Human before. "Yes, they're called Spartans."

I smiled again, still amused by my own little act. "You have earned that title, you know."

He nodded. "If I haven't... I don't know who has." He was done laughing, now... apparently while I had been quite amusing during the act, he was still in enough pain that he couldn't continue to laugh much beyond the direct infliction of my humor.

I sat in silence for several seconds, just looking at him lie there on the floor, his hands on his belly, staring seemingly numbly up at the ceiling, until I couldn't hold it in any longer. "What are you called?"

"I am Chief Petty Officer Spartan zero-nine-three."

I rolled that gibberish around in my head for another count of seconds before finally I had to admit that it made no sense to me at all. "This is your _name_?"

As if caught completely off guard, he stammered for a moment before offering, "Flint?"

"Flint." I echoed, tasting the word... name. It had an interesting sound to it... almost as if it were meant to portray something physical with the phonetic quality of the name, like at one point in Human history it had been a word. "I didn't know your name until now."

"I imagine a great many people don't." He answered, sounding tired. "I don't use it very often."

Admittedly, that admission shocked me... not very often! How _odd_! "Is it safe to assume that this little fact is why even G'wi calls you Spartan, rather than by your name?"

"Those of us in the Spartan program become the embodiment of what we represent... there really isn't a lot of room left for being something or someone else. We are Spartans... and we are good at being Spartans, we're good at what we do. Some of us have specialties, some of us don't. But at the end of each mission, when we return to base, even after we've stripped out of our armor... we are still Spartans."

I chewed on the air between my mandibles for a moment before asking, timidly, "So... I guess you don't have a mate or young back home, huh?"

Then he did it again... snerk.

_**SPARTAN 093 - FLINT**_

In the span of about four hours, somehow, there was this hidden magician who spontaneously decided to manifest the full extent and breadth of the armor. I was a little impressed, I'll admit, just in how quickly the stuff was made. I had rather expected to be handed some retrofitted split-lip's armor suit, with the edges machined off so it wouldn't be so awkward on me, but no.

No, this stuff looked so custom it was painful. The first piece I laid eyes on was actually a gauntlet-glove type deal, and at first I thought it was okay... not too shabby for a bunch of split chinned alien bastards. But then they came and handed me the next piece while I was still sitting there on that wall-mounted bench staring at the gauntlet. It had the standard look and feel of a typical Elite's armored gauntlet, with the little thumb-shaped divots along one edge and the fine scroll marks that I guessed had some significance that went past me. But the color of the thing didn't occur to me to note until I looked up.

I think the look on my face must have been a little more than they could take, even as the big bits were put down on the table - or what I thought was a table of some kind - nearby. I will say that I was very, quite, and solidly horrified at what I was being handed.

"What's the matter?" Anuna demanded, sounding put out that I didn't appreciate the armor right off. "Why are you looking at it like that?"

I looked up at him, my brow knitted and my mouth worked into a puckered frown. "You guys didn't paint it." My voice came out sounding a little faint - for some reason my volume knob must have been cranked over to the low end...

His lizardy eyes popped open like they'd been scooped out with a spoon. "We didn't _paint_ it??" He gagged on the sentence. "Aside that the color is already applied to the exterior enamel ablative coating... what has paint got to do with the quality of the armor - or the fact that it was just made for you _for free_ by people who were your enemies forty eight hours ago??"

I sighed, and set the gauntlet down on the table with the rest. Placing my hands palm down on the only two empty surfaces available past the heap of armor bits, I leveled my gaze at him. "There is no way in hell I am going into battle wearing _bright yellow_." I put more force behind my words, so they came out a bit stronger, and didn't make me sound like I was halfway to being hoarse.

Anuna must have suffered dual cardiac arrest and a full-on cognizant seizure right then - he just stood there, staring at me like he'd been caught in stasis like that, without even twitching with enough motion to effectively breathe by, for a good, oh, ten seconds.

I raised a brow at him, rather expecting some kind of reaction. Honestly... if Elites could be that still, why did they make such shoddy stealth and recon troopers? "Anuna?" I prompted.

He closed his eyes first, then looked down and shook his long head. After breathing a sigh, he cocked his head over to one side and looked at me again from there. "You're kidding, right?"

"I... am not." The reaction is what threw me. I was hardly undecided on this matter - but seeing that alien go through gyrations was of interest. "Are you implying that there is some reason behind cladding armor in such ridiculously flashy colors?"

"Ridiculous?" He repeated, sounding affronted. "It is a commander's colors - you are not a Minor, therefore you cannot wear the blue, nor a Major, so you cannot wear the red... and you do not command a starship so you cannot wear the white either. Therefore, since you are, to my understanding, somewhat above a standard Field Commander, you would wear the gold."

"But it'd mark me bigger than shit for every enemy that ever saw me as a target! I'd never be able to hide! Let alone take reasonable cover... I'd be wearing the biggest damn 'hit me' sign ever created!" I argued. "Look at this stuff... it's not only yellow, it's _shiny_." I thunked a knuckle off the broad breastplate. "Just make it a different color - something darker, preferably mottled or at least trim-set, and not so shiny." Hopefully, his weird-ass alien culture wouldn't cause us to get into some kind of honor-related fight over this.

I was, after all, wearing little more than a ripped and torn undersuit - no armor, no guns, not even a decent knife.

Anuna sighed heavily at me. "You're the strangest creature I have ever..."

"What, exactly, is so strange about the desire to survive a combat satiation?" I argued, cutting in. "Non-sentient creatures the galaxy over have perfected the art and design of self-concealment. Why is it such a foreign concept to your people to imitate what obviously _works_? If it didn't, then it wouldn't be written all over so many different species' hides!"

"There is no honor in cutting your foes from a dark corner." Anuna said.

"Argh, Anuna." I grumbled. "You just don't get it, do you? I don't give a shit about honor... it goes as far as keeping the backs of the guys you're with, keeping the secrets you're entrusted not to share, and upholding the oath you made when you were sworn into the military arm of your species." I crossed my arms. "I am not going to wear bright yellow to battle... ever. Nothing anyone says about anything at any point will change that."

Anuna looked down at the armor as if for the first time. "What did I expect... you're a Human."

"Well... yes." I admitted, again a little unsure where his alien thought train was going. "I don't have an active light-bending camouflage-field generator. That means I was trained to disappear without one. I can't do that - I'll be way out of my element and I'll be worse than the greenest rookie - if I'm wearing bright yellow!"

He looked at me again. "If I threw some mud on it, dragged it across a few rocks, and hit it with some nice, dark blast scoring, would you wear it then?"

I couldn't help myself... I grinned. Running a hand over my naked head, I cast a sidelong look at the armor on the table. "Yeah... I guess I might. It's just... really flashy like it is. It would make me feel like a big neon sign."

Anuna nodded. "Alright."

"Is there really a point in giving me specialized rank-filed armor?" I ventured, beginning to get a feeling that there was more reasoning behind this little... prank... than I had first envisioned.

"The warriors will not acknowledge you if you wore an obscure, unrecognized color... such as green." Anuna explained.

Gah.

"I thought it would be prudent to dress you in the proper colors so that there would be as little confusion as possible on the battlefield once you arrived upon it."

Please, god, no.

"I had, after all, not considered sending you out to it alone. You don't tend to own any viable solo-operative qualities. You always tended to get yourself into more trouble than you could get back out of, when alone."

God hates me.

"Often times it only takes a glance for the meaning and purpose behind an in-field command to be given... but the same motions from someone in the wrong colors will get a bad reaction..."

Like... really, really hates me.

"...such as no reaction at all." Anuna looked like he'd thought this out pretty far. He also seemed to think that just as a matter of course, I'd be going along with it with copious amounts of enthusiasm... probably because I had worked well enough when it was just him and G'wi around. What he had failed to do was ask me about this nonsense... because I still had nightmares about being shot out of the sky in a Longsword fighter by a squadron of Elite-piloted Seraph fighter craft.

He paused.

"Hello?"

I sighed. I couldn't allow my personal traumas to derail a tactically sound situation - if in fact he could make his buddies work with me, then who was I to argue that? "You... had a plan or something?"

"There are many battles to fight, make no mistake. This is not a talking war. Warriors all across the Covenant are fighting for their very lives as we speak." Anuna said. "Your people have need of you in this fight, I should think, as any loyalists you kill will be that many more that the rest of your people will not need to deal with. Also, mine would appreciate some well-placed augmentation in our own scattered forces." He shrugged. "I am told there are Humans on this ring at this very moment...more than merely your Demon friend."

"His name is John." I injected, almost callously. "Don't call him a demon. He's a great guy... he just happens to have really good aim."

Anuna gave me a look that was likely the Elite equivalent of a pointed frown. "_Anyway_."

I picked up the gauntlet I'd put down, and I looked it over one more time. It was a fitted piece that looked like it would comfortably encompass my big arms, but was obviously custom sized because it was shorter than the ones Anuna was wearing - which according to my memory of the part was a pretty typical length of your average Elite's forearm. Mine were longer than your average Human dude's arms, but shorter still than a typical Elite's. Just to see if it would, as it seemed, fit my arm, I tried to stick my left down in the hole. It looked like a semi-jointed piece, with a forward section separate from the elbow-section, and the wrist part had a connector that hung onto the plate that would, ideally, sit on the back of my hand if it was in the right spot. The elbow section was a little daunting, though, as it had an inset that looked good enough to spear myself in the guts with... someone liked elbow ornaments, evidently.

Anuna laughed at me.

I looked up, then back down at the gauntlet, and on a whim, poked it down onto my right instead, just to see if that would cure that laugh Anuna'd been struck by so suddenly. Sure enough, he was quiet. I settled my arm into the thing, and then flexed the muscles. It fit me, I supposed, and it was neither too long nor settled in an awkward place on the arm. There was flex weave on the wrist and at the elbow to keep the hardened part from jamming my joints or digging into them, which I found I rather liked. It was another layer of armoring in and of itself, that weave, and it would sit over the top of my undersuit.

This might come in handy, considering said suit was full of rather raggedy, rather embarrassingly large holes... like the drooping one that advertised that hole in my collarbones near my shoulder. There was some small consolation, though, at the part where someone had somehow come up with a new undersuit that didn't look like it belonged on a gimpy double-leg-jointed split-chinned alien bastard.

I was, admittedly, very impressed indeed.

_**HERETIC - G'WI 'CAERVASNEE**_

I had managed to shimmy down one of the support columns that held up the outer edge of the platform I had been on, but that was about it. My legs were more sore than my arms, and I was certain I could never polish off those burnished scuff marks from the insides of my shin armor. My arms ached and ached and every muscle in my back - and a few in my neck - all wanted to slough off my poor, aching bones.

I had sagged to my knees and was still sitting there several hours later, still feeling every inch I had descended, bemoaning my woes and a little unsure how to alleviate them. It was funny how _not_ falling was so much harder than falling!!

I sat there aching and whining to myself and feeling very undignified doing it, but how was I supposed to not? Everything hurt and I hadn't even a real justification for it. I had not had my arse whumped into pulp by an annoyed Mgaelekgolo, nor had I been beset by a pack of Jiralhanae who had just come out of a hive of stinging insects without having been able to catch or kill a single one of the bugs.

Nor, even, had I encountered and battled Flood. No, mine was a wimpy little woe if there ever had been one, and I felt like I'd been battered half to death just holding my own weight against a smooth, holdless surface for several hours as I tried not to descend at speeds that would cause my untimely - and equally undignified - death.

With a groan I forced my way back upright, finally, and after having set there long enough to take in how many blades of grass there were per square inch of each hill between my place and the shoreline, I was ready to. It took a certain discipline I did not own to just sit idle for hours at a time, sitting on my hooves, without beginning to itch and needing to move, or at least shift. I couldn't even ride a Ghost in the same seated position for long at all, before I wound up riding left-heavy on one ass-cheek.

Now I was standing again - and feeling a little wobbly for it - I turned around, and took in the landscape that had been behind me. Beneath the pillars, beneath that platform, the ground was horribly uneven, as if it had been watercut and then tilled up by some enormously devastating quake. Following that, some random serpent the size of your average Cruiser had come through and made a few hotshot donuts on the place, dragging funny shaped grooves into the dirt.

Okay, so that wasn't exactly my most cohesive description for a bunch of lumpy dirt mounds, but really... if you'd seen it, you'd agree completely!! Still, despite this attention-getting earthen sculpture before me, I still had enough cognizance to look beyond it, at that shining violet gem sitting delicately at the crest of the rock face and the ground... oh, that thing looked like a dream come true right then.

I didn't wait to drool. Dragging my legs like they had come off of me and were trailing along behind, I made for the Banshee. She was sleek and shiny, probably still polished from her last cleaning and without a single mark or blemish to suggest she'd been used to even transport some lazy bugger from point a to point b. The best part was this... she was all mine!!

I felt the Age of Reclamation pass without me and the Great Journey come and go, and then the next Age dawn before I ever reached her glossy side, though, and when I got there at last, I discovered she wasn't quite the heaven I had envisioned on first sight. My adoration faded as I crawled into her cockpit, and toggled her engine's activation.

She... hate to say it, but... she had a _smell_... there's just no way to really describe that smell, either. It was like burnt Jiralhanae hair mixed with decomposed Flood pus, spiced by Unggoy excrement, Kig-yar spittle and a dash of extra-fragrant unwashed Human. Given that, I was all too happy to open the front vents to blow that nasty smell out the back before it could have a chance to reach my nostrils from wherever in the world it had nested, in that Banshee.

Takeoff wasn't so bad, but before I had made a comfortable altitude the remnants of my first gasp of the scent had left my insides roiling in protest, and I felt lightheaded and nauseous already. Not a nice thing to take into a dogfight, no...

Which, somehow, I found directly upon launch!! The sky had been blessedly clear and quiet and without the tiniest insect or most harmless of bird, and as soon as I get myself a ride, suddenly the skies are filled to all the farthest reaches with blasting companions.

I was about to press the firing studs and shoot back a little even though I had no idea who was who, when some idiot from behind me did a belly-flop with his Banshee onto mine's back... and every alarm she owned screeched right into my poor ears. I was not, and I repeat, not having a good day about then.

I screamed back at the machine as I hammered the shutoff switches, unwilling to mind their meaning right then. I needed to concentrate on the flight, and the maintenance thereof, and not be bothered and harangued by constant blaring sounds. I pulled her out of a total nosedive right before we would have crashed together, but though I got my airspeed canceled by that move, I still slammed my face down into my control interface when we both bashed our noses off a rock face I hadn't seen until right then. Sputtering, I hauled back on the sticks, now adding dizzy to my list of internal afflictions. The Banshee responded beautifully, diving away from the cliff face I had found. Then, that mysterious furball happening around me reappeared, and I don't know if I punted that bleeping whatever it was out of the sky or what, but I do know I bashed my face off the controls again.

Sigh.

Anyway, the other guy got out of the way, so I was left with a more or less clear path. Someone else dove across in front of me before that could be fully utilized, but they were quick so we didn't suffer another collision. Boy, that polish was probably gone by now! I hit the booster drives and accelerated above the raging furball, casting a few good loops and spins about for good measure to make sure nobody could accurately bump me again.

Once I was up, I turned my girl around, and looked down. There was an uncountable number of the beasts down there... all of them tangling for airspace like there was some contest of territory between two flocks of the same kind of bird. Red team was flying poorly, and Purple team looked like it was losing by sheer power of numbers.

Three of the red Banshees curled off and came after me in my lofty place, so I supposed they thought I was on Purple team because my bird was purple. I was already annoyed, and since I had stalled my express motions for the most part to make that observation, I was also breathing very bad fumes off of something I didn't want to know too much about.

I dropped the trigger caps and punched the cannon studs, loosing a fat, ugly, brilliant round of hot plasma at the leader. His rolling evasion caused him to collide and punt the one to his left right out of the air. The thing rocked back and the cabin popped open or cracked open or somehow came open, and I saw a Jiralhanae come flailing right out of it.

"Hey! Free score for G'wi!" I cheered. It wasn't often I referred to myself in third person, but it came out before I realized that was what I was doing... and then I shut up, feeling ridiculous for having done it at all. I was rather glad no one had heard me.

My shot, stray as it was, barreled past three of Purple team and somehow managed to peg an unsuspecting Red team member right in the nozzles... he had a rather nice hole in his craft now, and it was beginning to limp after that hard impact, but it was still in the air. He soon wasn't, though, I noticed, when two of the Purple team ganged up to reinforce my accidental hit. Dodging my Red team pursuants, as I still had two, I decided to dive back through that maddening mess to see if I couldn't make a sidelong-aimed someone or other scrape my tail off for me.

I had certainly been struck enough times for the odds of it to be fair to good. Hopefully, if I could extricate myself from this fight that I had no knowledge about, I could also retain my bird, smelly as she was, long enough to get somewhere that did not require my walking there.

I was really fond of that idea... my legs were not liable to be very cooperative with me if I had to walk after all.

_**REBEL - ANUNA 'VADUMEE**_

I had gotten to watch the fabrication process for the last few pieces of the armor the warmaster had made for the Human... it was very interesting to see the metal and crystal fabric and the carbonite fibers all come together... and then the colored enamel ablative coating to smooth over the outer side of it all.

I had thought it exquisite when I had seen it first, and had praised the disgruntled warmaster once he was done. He hadn't been too fond of the idea of forging armor for a Human... he'd done it, and done it well, but he hadn't been happy about it. He'd responded to my praise by telling me if his work was ever used against our people he'd personally drop the Human, armor and all, into one of his smelting vats.

I was sure Flint wouldn't appreciate hearing that part... I had carefully not mentioned it. Still, the armor itself was a puzzle to more than just me. Apparently, to get the Human's shape correct, the warmaster had used the broken remains of the Mjolnir Mark V as inspiration. It looked like a collision had happened between a set of Human and Sangheili armor, with the Sangheili coloring winning out. There was a frontal plate that sat beneath the closure of the armored vest, which had a thicker shoulder plating than mine had, and though the pattern of shield emitters across the front and the micro-closure lines were the same, that was about where it ended. There was no obvious marking to imitate pect muscles on the vest, though, unlike the Mjolnir set.

The warmaster had grafted Sangheilian shoulder pauldrons atop a virtually complete sleeve of link-bound armor plating, though it really didn't look all that similar to the way the Human's old set had been. There were more pieces, and they were linked differently, for one thing. But each could twist and roll with whatever arm-related motions that Flint could ever conjure.

There was no belting, because the warmaster couldn't decide how to assemble a copied variant on the old one... and he wasn't too sure about how Flint would react to having a purely Sangheilian belt around his middle... I figured it was pretty universal if a creature got used to having things rub in certain places, and he got a new suit that rubbed in altogether different places, he'd be constantly after them with pulling and tugging and such.

So I had managed to find an old canthe hide belt, because I just knew if there was nothing there, he'd whine about where he'd put his reloads, or where he'd hang his weapons. Never mind there were folding catch hooks installed on the thigh armor. It was a traditional location for at-rest weaponry, like the swords, and plasma weaponry. Longer guns could be crossed across the back, where the shield engine sat. The thing sucked a powerful magnetic field around itself, and while it made a darn good emitter the armor 'round, it also meant that your shouldered gun would be sucked up against your back in an artificial magnetic gravity well.

Thankfully, this pull didn't extend out very far, or every warrior in the 'verse would have never gotten off his back once fully clad. The range of influence was about two and a half inches... and if something was stuck up back there, then the field would pull on it and suck downward until it had a firm grip, but also tended to consolidate on whatever it was... be that your gun, your buddy ... a twig.

The thigh armor was something the warmaster and his assistants had actually argued about - they had wanted to forge normal shaped and pointed plating. The warmaster kept pointing at the crumbled Mjolnir suit and claiming the design would hamper leg motion on something like a Human. I think he wasn't as right as he thought he was, but I'm pretty sure with as much bracing and kneeling as I'd seen Flint do, that said Human would still appreciate the lack of those shaped points.

Instead, he'd ground out the points into inverted scoops, set extenders on their outer edges, and inlaid a rounded knee cap into the scooped places. It was the first time, I think, that any of those crowd actually had any kind of real thinking to do about their work. After so many years perfecting the art of forging traditional Sangheili armor, this had to have been a major change of pace and a real head-banger at times.

Certainly some of those assistants got theirs banged!!

The warmaster had eventually given up, and after smoothing some of those weird angled edges off the design, he'd practically carbon-copied the shin armor and the steel boots from off the Mjolnir set. They looked more rounded to me, but I was pretty sure they ought to fit well enough because of their creation's circumstances. Certainly if Flint complained about his feet to me, I'd probably pop him one just out of irritation.

After all that... he'd complained about the color!! As difficult and time consuming as it had been just to make the stuff to begin with, and going to the trouble of not slapping him with a no-ranker or low-ranker's colors, he'd still complained.

Humans... always a pain. What was really irking to me was that while I fully understood why, and given logical thought, it really ought not have, I was still bothered by the fact that I had to actually help the guy get it all on. I was shaking my head the whole time I was pulling on that vest... he didn't appreciate being slung about like a rag doll, but I was not about to dignify an undignified situation by pretending to be some kind of female.

I was a warrior, dammit... I didn't need to be dressing other warriors!! How embarrassing... but his bum arm just couldn't turn into the proper gyrations anymore, nor could he afford the same kind of pressure on it that he probably once could have. He was grumbling at me, and I was grumbling at him, and we pretty much were both pretty peeved at one another by the time we got done.

He'd gotten the undersuit on without help, thank the Forerunners, so I had not needed to help him with that. It did help his appearances, somewhat, seeing as how ragged his old one had begun to look after all he'd been through. With all the cuts, tears and breaks covered over, he looked halfway decent again, for a Human. As soon as the last of the body armor was on and secure, he looked down at himself and blew what had to have been a perturbed sigh.

"What?" I asked, irritated.

He looked at me, those dove-gray eyes seeming to want to melt my irritation right off me. "I feel really stupid in yellow." He admitted, sounding half amused and half embarrassed.

I couldn't help myself... between the look on his mobile face and the tone of his voice, I had to laugh. "You look quite handsome, actually. For once you don't appear to be beaten to death by incarnated evil denizens."

He grinned, and held out his hands, to look at his arms. "I guess so." Then he looked at me, and after taking a breath, he asked the question I had been waiting for all along; "So... where's the helmet?"

I grinned. "I thought you'd never ask." I turned to the Elite standing at the door, and he rolled the rounded thing across his arm onto my hand, and I rolled it from that arm to my other, and then bounced it up towards Flint. He caught it, and looked down at it as if it were the head of a dead relative. To explain to his puzzled look, I put in, "We thought if you had your old head's-up, you wouldn't have any learning curve to slow you down. So the warmaster recalibrated the thing to your new armor instead."

That got a nod. "Ah, okay." Then he looked up at me and grinned suddenly. "Now I not only look ridiculous, I'll look like a frog!"

I cocked my head at him for that. "What is a frog?"

He shook his, as if unwilling to explain that one. "Green and yellow... I swear. If ever I get spotted by a Human again, they'll all die laughing their asses off at me."

"Not if you just saved said asses from extinction, they won't." I protested. "Besides... even if the helmet doesn't match... the visor does?"

Then he laughed out loud, and after a shake of his head in bemusement, he put the helmet on, and sealed it to the fitted collar seal that had been designed just for it. I watched as he stood there for a long time, just seeming to be staring into space at the far end of the room. When he finally moved, it was to raise his head and look at me again... and though the color clash did make him seem a little strange, seeing that golden visor looking at me again seemed to give me a sense of accomplishment... it felt good.

"Come... you should meet some of the warriors in this camp. They will be moving out very soon - we are needed in the fighting, and I am sure eventually you may yet get to find that other Spartan you were after."

"I don't think I'm that lucky." He mentioned. "John got all my share of the good luck."

"That explains a lot." I agreed, musing.

_**SPARTAN 093 - FLINT**_

Though I knew I had to look downright ridiculous in the colors they'd slapped onto the armor, I also knew I was better protected wearing state-of-the-art Elite armor than I ever could have been, wearing a half-assed mock-up copy of an outdated version of the stuff in Human style. I knew the armor I was wearing was not tungsten anymore, and I also knew the shielding engine was by far more powerful. I also knew that I needed to be cautious with it... going off thinking I was invincible in this suit would likely get me killed.

I had, after all, slain many a proud Elite warrior. They all had one thing in common that I did not, however, and it was that small distinction that I hoped would save my ass in the battling to come.

I wasn't an arrogant split-lipped son of a b!tch.

Walking along the Forerunner flooring towards what my instinct claimed was an exit to open sky, I could feel every shift, every slide, every settling plate as the armor rotated around me. It was almost like a second skin, following my movements like a curtain of fluid flowing over me. Coloring aside, it was the best armor I had ever worn. Inwardly I had to admit I positively loved the feel of it.

For one thing, it was comfortable. Nothing chafed, nothing dug, nothing tried to burrow under my skin. Nothing tried to pull into a bad position where it would hamper motion at any particular joint. In fact, I almost forgot it was there.

But I didn't get the same feeling of being naked that I had each time I discarded my old Mjolnir in the past. The armored feeling remained - I was not unprotected. I could take a solid hit, and survive it. But the feeling of it being heavy, or clunky, or even unwieldy in the slightest little way... that was gone. What had me by the short ones was that how I couldn't tell if my new suit was powered or not.

Nobody had mentioned it, but I couldn't come to my own conclusions because the contacts on an alien suit could be guised as anything. To that end, if it was powered, then it could get its power fed through contact lines sewn straight into the undersuit that held it all together. Who was to say? I'd have to ask Anuna or someone else around here.

My next thought, as the bright sun came into view through an opened door ahead of us, was about the whereabouts of G'wi. I hadn't seen the surly beast since before the platform had crumbled beneath us back at the lake... wherever that location was, relative to this one. It occurred to me that I had no idea where I was... and I had been here, mainly indoors, for nearly three days. That was if my blank spot during which I wasn't conscious wasn't any longer than a few hours.

Stepping out of the wide doors, the first thing I knew - mainly from instinct - was that there were two guards flanking the door. As we made the threshold of the exit, a third Elite stepped up to the guard on the left, and settled there, as if they were waiting for something.

Anuna and I made the exit, and stepped out onto a smooth half-circle of what sounded like metal but looked like faceted glass. I could see through it, the distorted images of dozens and dozens of Elites standing beneath it giving me visible pause. Raising my gaze as I stepped up to the edge to look past it - there was no rail or edging of any kind - I realized that all of them down there were looking back up at me.

This, too, gave me pause, and I stood there quietly looking back for several seconds before I felt something brush my arm. I turned my head, noting there was absolutely nothing on my motion tracker. I half wondered if Elites had such sensor equipment, because with that many beings this close to me, the odds of none of them moving enough to be detected were so minimal it was pointless. Anuna stood there at my elbow, one of his four-digit hands resting lightly on my shiny golden shoulder. At first he was looking out over the ranks of his kind, but when my head turned, his did too, and he looked back at me.

"They will be as your brothers." He said.

So that's what they meant when they spoke of kin like that... I had always assumed Elites merely bred like rabbits and had litters, all of which had joined the armies. This theory, in turn, would give good cause for over a dozen Elites to all call one another by a sibling denotation. Apparently, I had been wrong about that part.

"You will know them as comrades and teammates. Each and every one of them rely upon the warrior at their elbow to keep them alive; they are alike, but not the same. One's strengths augment the next one's weaknesses, and vice versa. You are now a part of this circle."

"Is this a squadron thing, or you guy's culture?" I asked, feeling a little overwhelmed by that proclamation he'd just made.

He nodded. "Little of both."

I looked back at the crowd gathered beneath us. The deck we stood on was only about ten feet off the ground, so the lot of them all looked very close, and yet just out of reach. Though, had I wanted to fight them, I would have probably plunged to my death by jumping into their number. They were all so still...

"Get to know some of them, Flint... you will need the knowledge when you deploy against the Jiralhanae." Anuna advised. "They will not attack you as in the past. We all here today understand the changes our world has gone through."

I paused, to breath a deep sigh. When it was gone, I pondered chewing my lip a little. Looking back at Anuna, I asked, "I guess it can't hurt to figure who'd be best on my team."

He nodded, pulling his hand away. "Select them wisely, Flint... you are still new and you are still Human to them, regardless of all other factors that play a part in this war. You will not be looked kindly upon if you lead them to their deaths on the first try."

I felt my features crawl into an expression even I could not have identified in the mirror at that. But he was honest - he was also serious. And while given a few more seconds, I could have said as much to him, it was also something I had not yet thought. The truth was there was better than thirty years of bad blood between me and my soon-to-be squadmates. This did not look terribly pretty, even on the outset.

Hopefully, enough of this crowd had it in their hearts to forgive me long enough to kill something besides Elites or Humans before we went back at each other's throats at the end of the day. I certainly was not terribly inclined to agree with the feeling that I was getting off the thought of being stabbed in the back by one of those vicious energy swords these guys carried.

And, so I'd heard, they had a mean throwing arm, to boot.

I turned away from the observing crowd, to face the descending ramp of equally as metallic glass that led to the ground. I probably had butterflies for the first time since entering under the tutelage of Mendez, all those years ago, but the bugs were no less potent today as they had been then.

Only this time, the scores of eyes watching me would have slain me on sight just a week ago, and none of them were like me in the least. I was an apple among plums, and I was about to make like a plum in a big way. It was easily the hardest mission objective any of the Spartan program had ever been handed. I was daunted, and honestly a little scared. Stepping into a gathering that big of that many monstrous alien split-lips without Human backup and without a gun in my own hands, and trusting my fate to their mercies was nothing short of terrifying.

And here I was doing it, one foot in front of the other, willingly. I half wondered if they wouldn't tear me apart once I reached their front rank. Nobody moved at first, as I made the final few strides, but then they began to part, all of them silent as ghosts and all of them watching me. Having that many dark lizardy eyes trailing my path through their number made my skin crawl.

But I felt I was walking in a predetermined direction... was I? What lay at the end of whatever path I was walking right then was as much a mystery to me as it was to all watching. Still, I had a feeling, and I was following it. I stepped through the parting crowds until I happened upon one Elite standing there pretty much in the middle of the gathering, his thick arms crossed, his black eyes leveled at my head like the sights of a gun. He didn't move when I drew closer, so before I bumped into him, I stopped walking.

Everyone just stood there, some of them trading looks at me with looks at that big guy I'd found. For lack of a better thing to do, I raised an arm, and stuck a finger out at him. Turning my hand, I crooked that finger.

What happened next was completely and totally not my fault. I'd swear that by any god, any religious text, anything at all. But I was completely innocent of the instigation.

I'll take a moment to describe this scene in detail, because, remarkably enough, I actually saw all of it as it happened, despite how the whole thing was overwith inside of a single minute's span. First he unfolded his arms. Then, he inhaled, and flexed forward to balance into his lunge. My adrenal response was to spin a leg around behind me, and turn my body to the left as his arm reached out to where my head had been a heartbeat before.

He was quick to compensate, though, and my hand came up to catch his elbow as he brought it back around again to follow my evasion. I stabbed my other fist down under that arm, and he slung his own free arm down and pulled it over, threading the strike aside. Plucking free for a half second, he turned his upper body to the right, balanced left, then stuck a leg out as if to kick my knee in. I turned into a half-squat in the opposite direction, causing the striking hoof to miss, so he crooked his double-jointed leg and caught the backside of my turned knee with the point of his raised heel.

I reached up and caught him by the lip of his armored vest, and as I went down, he was forced to follow me. I rolled him over my head using his own falling momentum even as he latched both hands onto my helmet. I came over the top of him and landed on my knees, still holding his vest, with him laid out between my legs. Ignoring his grasp on my helmet for just a second more, I stabbed my free hand in a fist straight into his throat right below his mandibles.

The Elite's hands came off my helmet, but just when I thought I might have forestalled any further motion on his part, they both came back and sucker-punched me square in the chest. My shielding popped hard in reply, separating us. I wound up rolling over my head once, but as soon as I was back on my knees, I stuck a hand out and jumped to my feet. I didn't get to see how he did his own, but as soon as I was up, he met me again.

He punched straight, I threaded him left, and struck upwards. He peeled that downward, so I had to catch his following fist before he popped me in the visor with my own knuckles. Taking his recoil even as my head snapped backwards, I shoved back again, and popped him in turn right in the nose of his helmet, directly above his mandibles, with his own knuckles. When he recoiled from the strike, I cinched my grasp of that fist, and gave it a hard twist.

He spun from his hooves to a knee, where the turn was completed. I tucked his hand up beneath the base of his neck where it joined his shoulders, completely locking that arm and twisting that shoulder. I scooped my other arm under his chin - what he had of one, that is - and hauled upwards, so his knees almost left the ground. With the spiked end of his helmet snugged up against my newly armored chest, one arm cranked hard up behind his neck, and my arm hooked around his throat holding him tight against gravity, he could only gasp and claw at said arm with his free hand.

I raised my head, and looked around, a little astonished that none of the others had moved an inch. They had obligingly cleared way for my fight with the one in my arms, but otherwise none had moved. Certainly none had moved in aid of their... brother. The looks on their faces were as blank and passive as I had ever seen on any crowd... not a one looked enraged, or even mildly miffed that their comrade had lost our little tussle. Admittedly I still didn't know why he'd attacked me just for being pointed at. When the Elite I was holding relaxed, a new thought stabbed through my poor befuddled mind like a lightning strike, and I let go completely.

If I'd killed him... somehow... they'd tear my carcass into so many pieces I'd never be recognized. Instead of collapsing into a deceased heap, though, he leaned forward, and after an audible breath, pressed back upright. Once there, he turned around, and looked back at me. I half expected him to lash out again, but instead, he smacked his own self with a fist - and it took me a whole other second to realize it was a salute, and not a self-damaging motion.

I'd flinched, but not too badly. I guess I had the right to. "You have proven your place as Commander," the strange Elite told me, before lowering that fist and releasing its clench. As I watched in wonder and bemusement, every last one of the others all popped themselves in the chest with a fist of their own - was that some kind of ritual I'd just suffered? I made a mental note to ask Anuna to warn me of anything else next time. Being surprise-attacked by such things was never nice.

"Thanks." I offered. "I think."

I'd gotten used to seeing Elite faces move to know my comment had made the guy smirk at me. "You have a unique quality, for a Human." He added, sounding amused. Though I had missed the joke, there ensued a ripple of laughter from the Elites around us.

"What quality would that be?" I asked, probing.

"You fight bravely." He began, recrossing his arms. "I did not expect that from a Human. You also defeated me. You could have killed me. But you didn't. That, I also did not expect from a Human."

I guffawed at him. "And knowing all that, you picked a fight with me anyway?"

"My brothers would have avenged me, do not doubt. What is more honorable an end than to die fighting one of the renowned Human Demons?" He shrugged, rolling shoulders easily half again as big as mine. I was built thick for a Human, but being seven feet four inches tall, that feature only made me look proportional. The Elite I'd tangled with a moment ago looked big, standing a little over half a head taller than his buddies. I guessed he'd tackled me to prove that if I could whip the biggest and best of them, then I was an acceptable addition to their forces. But... Commander? Anuna had been serious!

What kind of briefing had these guys gotten? "How about not dying at all, regardless who you fight?" I asked, noting the acid in my voice after the fact. Wow, I was peeved, and I didn't even know it yet. Weird!

He raised his long head, making it look like he was turning his nose up at me. Apparently it had different meaning to his people, though, because the following words were incongruous if it didn't. "That is why we have decided to accept your position as Leader. You will have a squadron of Elites."

I half wondered what all he was thinking - it was certainly alien to me. "You realize I got the impression I was allowed to pick." I offered, almost tentatively.

That got a kind of weird sounding chuckle.

Again, as if on a rewound track, I raised my arm, and pointed my finger at him.

_**HERETIC - G'WI 'CAERVASNEE**_

I got the impression that wherever I was heading now, I wouldn't much like being there in short order. In fact, I didn't even know where I was going to be, in short order! All I did know was that every member of the Covenant had come down with the same version of utter violent madness and they were going at each other's throats like rabid animals.

I wasn't sure why, or where this affliction had come from, but as I made my way clear of any sign of dogfighting or ground combat, I began to wonder if maybe it was a preemptive symptom of a Flood infection. And, for some reason, I was the only one who didn't know about it yet.

That got me thinking.

I hadn't seen or smelled Flood anywhere at any point since leaving High Charity, but did that honestly mean anything? I had smelled it in the past, when I had run into it, on scout runs. I had even smelled it on the warriors who had come back in from combat with the parasite. The mere presence of spores or even sludge did not necessarily cause one to become infected, although at times it did complicate necessary bodily functions and make one rather ill.

I glanced down at the shining light in the tactical display, and sighed. My smelly old bird was just about out of fuel, and she'd nosedive on me if I didn't land her first. I got myself over the next sharp looking ridge, and set her down before she could consume her last drop of reserve. Popping the cabin, I slid out, and paced a few steps away so I wouldn't be gassed out when her foreign dead smell came back to greet me now that it wasn't being actively blown out the back.

The terrain here was just as watercut and broken - and stony - as it had been back where I'd found the Banshee, but there was something just a little different. Here, the high ridge walls cut off sharply in cliff faces beaten by ocean waves that fell away to the Ring's horizons. Where I stood now I could see the metal edges where they curled up to hold in the land, the sea, and the atmosphere, and I could see where the spinward side of the Ring stretched up and away into open vacuum.

The great gas giant that the Ring orbited was bright and vibrant today, although a storm front obscured the counter-spinward view somewhat and gave me a surreal chill. Something about that storm front didn't sit right with my inner sensibilities. Shaking my head, I turned away, and leaving the slightly damaged, smelly Banshee where I'd parked her, I began to walk down the sloped top of the ridge towards open ocean.

I'd need to dive pretty far to reach the water from where I was, but I really had no intention of jumping off anyway. If there proved no way down, I could always use my otherwise dead Banshee to soften the drop by flying at least most of the way down. As it turned out, the ocean was cut off from my perch by yet another wall of high soaring rock cliff, but a much shorter one than what I stood on.

And that revelation came about the same time as when I saw the Control Room. It was a really pretty building, though awful inefficient, as well as the part where it was standing on kilometer-thick beam struts out in the surf. I sighed, and crossed my arms. If I ever saw Anuna or that Spartan again, I felt I'd be fortunate indeed. I half wondered if they hadn't been crushed underwater by the falling stones, or even if they'd survived that, had they been killed by some other method?

It was hard to imagine a world without the witticisms I had grown accustomed to, without the bland human sarcasm, the blatant disregard for my culture. I snorted to myself... he'd been useful, as a companion and as a warrior, but I really hadn't thought I'd let him grow on me like that... I realized, standing there staring at a marvel of Forerunner architecture, that I actually liked that surly human.

What was the world coming to?

There never came an answer to that query, though, seeing as I was watching in just the right spot to witness when a lancing beam of deadly plasmic energy slammed hard into that building's front door.

Wham!

Metal splashed and splintered, buckling and tearing away like flesh from bones under intense solar radiation. That, I realized, was what that walking Scarab had been after. Indeed, I recognized the beam, even though I couldn't see where the tank was standing from where I was. Shortly, the sealed outer barrier had been sloughed away, and the fire ceased. White hot radiance and metal vapor replaced the main entrance to the structure, but there were more than a few Banshees all tearing hell for leather straight at that damaged door.

Phantoms came in from my right, streaking in at high velocities, flanking Banshees aiding them in their attempt to intercept those intruding. Most broke away and met the approaching Phantoms, and more dogfighting happened, but I knew there was at least one if not two of the Banshees got through that white glowing portal and past the danger zone of that broken entrance.

I frowned at them all. "You've gone mad!" I screamed. "What are you people _thinking_??" Frustrated and demanding to myself to find out what in Forerunner hell was going on, I turned my attention away and looked for a way down.

"Screw it..." I went back to the Banshee I'd come in on, and dove her off the ridge I was on, streaking straight for that canyon bottom below me. I got most of the way there and braked with the last of my fuel, but I still hit rather hard, jarring every bone in my body and damaging the undercarriage doubtless.

I crawled out of it this time, since I was a little rattled. I got upright just in time for a phalanx of Banshees to scream by overhead, angling to aid their intruding brethren in the fight over the water. There was another one lifting out of the Scarab, but this one dove straight for the Control Room without a second glance at the fighting. I looked around a bit, before lowering my gaze to take in my more immediate locale.

Just as I did so, I realized a Specter had come up. It was stopped, now, some lengths from me, and the gunner had jumped down off of it and had gotten about halfway between us when I spotted them. I felt just a little foolish for having them sneak up on me like that - had it been enemy, I'd doubtless be dead meat spoiling for carrion-eaters. I faced the approaching warrior squarely, though, noting he was giving me a strange look. I was still clad in the golden armor of the Honor Guard, but without the ceremonial cape I cast about a look of combat - something the Guard rarely did.

Though, under circumstances such as these, could they really put it past me? "Ho there, what is your name?"

I sniffed. He was cautious, perhaps, but respectful? Not so much. Maybe something had happened to make my ilk fall out of favor somehow. "G'wi 'Caervasnee." I answered.

"You still wear the gold, 'Caervasnee?" He sounded dubious.

"Why shouldn't I? It was duly appointed to me for valor of deeds past." I argued, feeling just a little put out. Really, I had discovered Honor Guardship wasn't all it was cracked up to be, but hey... might as well take the perks with the job if I got to have the job, hey?

"The Guard were replaced by the Jiralhanae many sevendays ago. You were not informed?" The guy looked a little more relaxed... I wasn't faking it, at least.

"I was apparently not informed of many things, this Age." I remarked, tartly. "What is going on around here? Why are members of the Covenant fighting one another? Why did a Scarab just boil off the front entrance to the Control Room?"

He shrugged a shoulder partly, though it was not in gesture - the motion betrayed a slight indentation in his armor that I recognized as a puncture from a Spike round that had been removed. He'd fought the brutes just a while ago. "The Covenant has fractured. The brutes have betrayed us - and the Prophets with them. They conspire to eradicate us, to a female, and this genocide has been in effect for some time now. I am amazed you had come this far without seeing combat with them at least once."

"I haven't." I sighed. "I just didn't know why I was attacked."

"The Arbiter has broken into the Control Room with some of the Humans to stop Tartarus and his clan brutes from activating the Ring. It has been a hard battle to get them this far."

I couldn't help it - the mention of Humans perked my head. "You would not have seen a Human Demon by any chance, would you?"

"No, honored one... the Demon has taken another path. Our intel suggests he is in pursuit of the Prophet Truth, who has retreated to the main city... to the Ark... and is hiding there."

I deflated. Bummer. "That is a long way from here."

There must have been something in my voice... "Do you know this... Demon... 'Caervasnee?"

"I do." I admitted. "And his brother, the one who slew Regret at the lake temple. I was... acting in heresy... at the time. Now I do not feel as if I were so wrong, in my actions. Not if all our brothers are now facing all the same obstacles I once did."

"That is a bold statement." He decided... but he didn't sound cross when he said it. "I can arrange for a Phantom heading counter-spinward to pick you up, if you wish to join the Demon in his quest. Forerunners know we shall all be better off for the lack of that Prophet, Truth."

"I would appreciate that." I nodded my head.

Then he pointed at me. "And you might be able to keep better tabs on what is going on around you, 'Caervasnee, if you bothered to turn your helm comn unit on from time to time."

For that... I will admit... I face-palmed.


	6. Legendary

_**REBEL - ANUNA 'VADUMEE**_

It was a marvel, really, watching that.

For a Human, even a large one, Flint had his uses. And when we had come upon the up-ended Wraith, he'd just wandered over to it, stuck his fingers in the mud and lifted. The tank turned on a wing fin, groaned over the apex, then splashed hard into a new imprint once upright. The Elites he had picked for his team were all staring at him like he'd grown vegetable matter out an orifice, but he just gave them what had to be a puzzled look and said,

"What?" Like he did that sort of thing every day.

Hell, he might have. I didn't know, and I doubted the day would come when I would. In fact, chances were good that once the majority of the conflict was over, and this new war had dissolved into hit and run operations on each other's established bases, his people would recall him and I'd never see him again. I kind of appreciated him, I'll admit, but I was okay with that. He could disappear... that was fine. But I wanted to know it was deliberate when it happened.

Rain had saturated the entire area - much of it had been blasted half to the next 'verse, with spears of jagged metal crowning one whole horizon line and ribbons of black and red smoke pouring out of the broken holes. I had a sneaking suspicion that the majority of that debris was actually a crashed Cruiser... even though it nolonger even resembled one, aside from how tall it was.

Mud had claimed our boots, as well as the lower halves of every up-thrusting object in the area. This included the trees, all scraggly looking as they were, and the Forerunner constructs as well. These lined the other three horizons - my piece of the little army that had been thrown together had taken a western approach across the Ring from our base to reach the city surrounding the Forerunner ship. Our sources had begun to tell us that Truth was going to tear the thing loose from the power conduits that fed the city it was sitting in, and fly it off to somewhere.

That somewhere was beginning to sound a little frightfully familiar... and while I knew Flint was listening to the battlenet, too, I half wondered if he was getting the same bad vibes off of their choice of words as I was.

Earth.

"That is scoring from a parasite's claws." 'Taramee said. After their introductory fight, the big guy had somehow taken a shine to the Spartan, and he hung around the Human like he was the self-appointed second-in-command. Flint didn't seem to care.

"Tank's dead, that's for sure." Flint mentioned, shaking the mud off his armored fingers. He didn't look quite so golden anymore, but then none of us were technically clad in our colors anymore - we had all become so encrusted in smears of mud that we all looked like varying shades of clay earth.

Ahead was the entrance to the city's central conduit lines... it would take us as far as the transport lines. But in all fairness, once we were that close, all we had to do was jump into the energy beams on the lines and be on our merry... they'd deposit us right into the ship itself, and from there we could hang Truth to dry on his own wattles.

As I stepped into the gaping, circular opening, I lit my sword to slice open the grating that had been installed more to keep wildlife from nesting than to stop invading armies. The light from the blades it emitted cast an eerie pallor over the depth of the tunnel I was standing in, and it gave me pause.

"'Vadumee?"

I turned my head, to look back at them, wondering which had called my name. "Careful, brothers..." I began, uncertain. "The parasite may well still linger here."

"There's no bodies." Flint called ahead, stepping into the huddle that was forming outside the tunnel opening. "What's to stay for?"

"We will soon find out." I answered, turning back to the grill and slicing it out. Our expert steps made sound only on the rocking grating as we stepped over and past it, venturing deeper into the tunnel and under the city we meant to infiltrate. Our target was moving fast, and the Flood was hot on his heels.

Light dwindled away until it was just that of my sword, but just when the tunnels around me began to swallow that meager glow, the pipe blossomed with brilliant yellow light, and the fork ahead of me became evident.

I looked back, to see Flint had gotten up behind me, and ahead of the others, somehow. Lights installed on the cheeks of his green Mjolnir helmet had activated, and they now lit our passage brightly as day. "Dark in here." He mentioned. I laughed.

Passage through the rest of the tunnels went swiftly and quietly, every one of our ten-person team listening to the chatter and buzz of the battlenets. On occasion a ship would interrupt, but mainly we heard entrenched ground troops screaming at one another. Some of them were brutes, others were Sangheili calling for reinforcements. We were outnumbered - our people had been at the forefront of every battle the Covenant had ever waged for hundreds of years, and the less used and more prolific Jiralhanae had not. Our only saving grace was our tendency to wander in groups, and that not all of the brutes had been where they could most easily cut us down.

We also had all those long years of battle to harden us against their softer, more savage attack plans. I could only pray that it went half as well as the statistics of the equation suggested. We might have been better at it, more capable for it, but they were still a bigger, stronger creature, even if uncouth and untrained.

Inside the hour, our hooves flying quickly over the curved surface beneath them, my team had reached the rendezvous point. As we emerged from the tunnels, slicing grates and covers out of our way, we joined with most of our numbers. Flint made the funniest motion at seeing all of us flowing down into a fern-decorated pathway, but I'd never seen him do it before, and I didn't know what it meant.

With his carbine in his arms, he drummed the fingers of his trigger hand across the butt of the weapon, tapping what had to be a sequenced pattern. It went kind of like this - taptap, taptap, tap-tap-tap. And then it repeated.

A small artificial river trickled below the designated pathway, with green grass shoots and delicate blossoms from a dozen worlds all cultivated carefully only to be abandoned at the hedging. Large shining metal basins stood tall and proud at set intervals along the way, each holding a tall, stout treelike fern. The pathway designated through the middle was too narrow to hold all of us without bottlenecking our approach, but it didn't seem to bother anyone now to stride quickly through the waters of the artificial river.

Really... the mud on my combat shoes was beginning to feel rather heavy...

To our sides, the rising walls where our impromptu entrances emerged had become encrusted with climbing vines, gaping wounds in the vegetation where the warriors had come through. Installed directly over each tall fern, a narrow metal arch extended between the walls, seeming to feign support for a roof that wasn't there. It was, as with most of the Forerunner architecture we had found over the centuries, mainly appearing as aesthetic. It was only in looking deeper that some things appeared to own uses, but even with prolonged examination some of the designs and devices refused to give up their secrets.

Our pathway sloped upwards until it felt like we were climbing the steepest of stairs, only without the steps - but it was a shortcut, and one we couldn't afford to dismiss. I crested the height, and stood up on the top of the curving wall that surrounded the basin where the ship was docked into the Ring. The scope of what I could see was enormous - almost as if the horizons went on forever. I was just high enough to see a lot, and not high enough to see it all. I felt very small, and very slow - there was a long ways yet to go to reach that line, and we were doubtless running out of time. From where I now stood, I could see the Prophet's escape route clearly; the headquarters structure, the massive parapets, the overly dramatic holographic glyphs decorating the exterior walls. The personal quarters of the Prophets connected there, and at their back was the lift shaft that would take them straight to the ship docked next to it. The ship itself was big enough to dwarf everything that surrounded it, the glowing, pulsing ribbons of blue light leading from the lift decking to its four massive spire like wings detailing that the Prophet hadn't made an appearance yet. The lift's dark running lights would toggle long before he ever made the top, though, and that meant we still had time to make that massive distance.

As Flint came up behind me, making harsh metallic scraping noises that made me wonder if he weren't clawing holes in the Forerunner metal with his fingers, I turned and dropped off the other side of it from him. It took the warriors a painful fifteen minutes to get over that wall, off the other side, across the wide, open, empty platform connecting it to the lancing bridges, and to the other side where a hollow opened into the main building network. I couldn't see the platform we were after, anymore, and I had no idea if Truth was already heading up or not.

_Fall back! Let the parasite consume their heresy as we escort the Holy Prophet to his sacred vessel!_ There was distinct interference crackling through the radio signal my comn was picking up, but the tone of that particular brute's voice told me more than just - what he'd said was a simple command, meant to exact immediate reaction from his fellow brutes. What he hadn't said told me so much more.

Flood... they were running from it, with their tails tucked and fear in their eyes. That had to mean, despite any faith or heresy thereof, that the Elites he'd mentioned were probably running from the parasite, too. And that meant that there was a lot of Flood coming straight for us.

Oh, damn.

"Anuna!" Flint hollered, landing hard on the platform behind me and matching my pace across it.

"What?" I demanded.

"I don't know what channel you're listening to, but I just got a head's-up from Cortana!"

"Who?" I asked, making the tight corner leading to the connecting parallel straits and cutting right into one of them. There were dozens of them, all running straight elbow to elbow, but I'd taken the first one to come up, and for it got into the broad, open expanse that would lead me down into the secondary entrance. That was where the chamber that had that lift Truth was about to use was located. I still had a long way to go to get there, though... which was why I'd broken into a run as soon as I was off the first wall.

"Never mind. But I know where John is." The way that Human said those words made me want to sock him in the head with my fist. It came out casual, plain, and a little toneless... but there was no sign whatsoever of a runner's breathing pattern. The little sot was going to outpace me, without even trying!!

"Why is that relevant?" I demanded, cross.

"Because he's ahead of us." Flint explained, not quite smug. "Anuna, there's a problem with this situation, though... we're going to catch Truth first, but we'd be lucky to lay a finger on his slimy hide. The Flood is going to hit this place like Christmas at the exact same point we do."

"Okay... so what do you suggest, since our primary plan isn't likely to happen?" The tunnel angled upwards... was that bad? Had I picked a bad one? No time to wonder now... I kept running.

"John's right behind that Flood army, Anuna." Flint told me. "We can clear it out for him - draw them away so he can cut right through and catch Truth by the throat. He won't see it coming and if anyone can bring that bastard down, it'd be John."

"By himself?" I questioned. "Forgive me if I doubt that assessment of your brother's capabilities."

"He killed Regret by himself." The quiet, simple, straightforwardness of the statement stopped all the thoughts in my head in their tracks. He was right... the Demon was a proven Prophet-killer. And while our own plan to capture Truth and tear him to pieces before he could get away had just crumbled because of the Flood army that was going to meet us at his doorstep, we still had an ace in the hole.

"Alright." If we were going to play it like that, though, we needed to do it right... and that meant a little improvisation. "Warriors, your attention!" I called, still running. "The parasite has gotten ahead of us, and they've amassed quite a number. We can't pursue Truth as planned. But we can head off that army and redirect it away from the Forerunner vessel."

"Why would we want to _save_ Truth?" 'Taramee asked, dubious of this change in plans. Doubtless all of them were wondering this same question, but 'Taramee had always had a quick tongue, and he'd said it first. The others were plainly listening.

"We're not going to." I answered. "But we can't spare any warriors to go after him if we intend to effectively draw off the whole army - which we will need to do, if anyone at all is to get through and into the ship after him. The Demon is going to arrive minutes after the Flood do, brothers - and if there is an army of the parasite between him and the Prophet, he will run out of time before the ship launches and Truth escapes. We are going to draw off that army, and we are going to pave the Demon's path with ichor and blood so that he may catch that Prophet and bring back his head."

I got a chorus of agreeing roars, and one tickled laugh.

"Is there a problem, Flint?" I asked.

"No... but you say that like you think he's some kind of mythical being, or something."

I rolled my eyes. We were almost to the end, now... almost out of the tunnels. And they were angling down now. My legs burned, but anticipation filled me as I knew in my soul that I was about to meet my enemy, and despite all the hitches we'd encountered, we still had a chance to make our plan work.

Truth was still going to die... and it would still be our doing when it happened.

_**SPARTAN 093 - FLINT**_

We broke through the final leg of our sprint to meet the arriving Flood army, and I almost balked when I actually saw it. Those Covie bastards hadn't been kidding, when they'd issued their retreat order. I could see that both sides - Elite and brute alike - had been caught and killed by that rolling horde. I knew the instant that I saw it that there were too many.

Flood would remain behind when we took off, if for the simple fact that it would be pointless for the ones in the back to chase us. By the time any in the rear of that massive swell caught up to us, we'd all already be either dead or fled out of their reach. There wouldn't be anything left for them to bother with.

But... if we did this right, maybe we could thin that remnant population to a more manageable number, and if John was quick on his toes, he'd get through them in time anyway. I hoped that their multitude of thousands would be impressed by our multitude of not-as-many thousands. My guess put the Elite number at roughly three thousand and a half. But even just gaping in shock and dismay, and not even guessing, I had a sinking feeling that the Flood coming for us numbered a billion, easily, and would blacken the earth of the Ring for miles behind them.

That meant we had to feint and bluff like mad.

'Taramee appeared in my peripheral as I slowed my advance, and just the presence of the overgrown lizard helped. Of course... it also helped that many of the Elites around me had seen and fought with Flood in the past. Me, meanwhile, had never seen one before in my life.

As we watched, a compliment of brutes ran hell for leather out of the lift basin and towards that blue energy beam. Behind them, came the Prophet Truth, surrounded by still more brutes, who ushered the lanky, smaller alien in the floaty-chair-thing quickly towards that same energy beam. They, like the first ones through, were lifted and conveyed out beyond my range of sight towards the ship.

Behind the Prophet and his closest guard, another batch of brutes emerged from the lift, but before those had made the halfway point across the platform that connected the two energy transfer points, Flood erupted from the lift.

Their number rolled into the private sector of the building that had once housed the Prophet we were supposed to be chasing, and guttered out onto the platform that connected to the energy-beam-conveyor-belt thing sticking out towards the big spearhead shaped ship.

Oddly, none of the Flood forms jumped into the sideways lift beam, though some of the brutes knocked several of their twisted, mangled carcasses out into freefall shy of the beam. They realized they couldn't make the beam, shortly, and began trying to make a final stand, holding off innumerable enemy.

I quickly noticed that whatever kind of being a Flood form was, they didn't appear to have any kindred spirit... and absolutely no sense of apparent self-preservation. They just flailed their empty limbs, some of which were asymmetrical, and rushed headlong into whoever wasn't one of their own already.

Some of them had retained enough of their senses to have armor on them, and one or two I saw popped energy shields when shot at, but for the most part, they didn't even seem to care when bullets filled their bodies. I felt that sinking dread go a little deeper.

"Hey, Anuna?" I asked, sounding tentative.

"What is it now?" He griped. He must think I had more bad news about our little plan.

I did. "How the hell am I supposed to fight _that_?"

He sighed, and I saw him roll his eyes, but it was 'Taramee who answered; "The controlling infection form is contained within the chest cavity, Spartan - shoot center of mass, and break the infection form, and the body will fall. If you see any rolling spheres of yellow pus, dispatch them quickly before they claim the emptied husks and reanimate them."

"You got to be stinking kidding me!!" I exclaimed. "What the hell are we fighting, anyway??"

Before they could answer, the deformed - and half-decomposed - zombies rushed headlong up to meet us. We'd been spotted, and here they came. I was repulsed and disgusted, and very appalled to know that something that looked like it'd been dead for a month was coming up to get me. They squished and gurgled and spat and hissed, and some of them would make mangled sounding screams at us, but they all ran flailing their arms.

And I was very impressed... the part where they got named was not in sarcasm, that was for sure!! Though the zombies from hell with big guns that they don't aim was a little disconcerting. Who's idea was this joke? I certainly wasn't laughing!

I panicked, but lucky for me, the reaction to panic had been rewired, and it came out as emptying my magazine at them instead of turning tail and running. That particular tactic never really saved anyone anyway, ever since the invention of the firearm. Shooting made me feel better, especially when their decomposing forms seemed to splash all to bits when my carbine rounds struck them.

I guess there was something normal about the situation after all. But never once had I ever dreamed I'd be spending valuable ammunition to kill things that ought have already long since been dead!!

They swarmed over everything, and sometimes the ones in the back would get impatient, and they'd take this flying leap that even for me would have been impressive - and none of them wore powered armor or jump packs. They just jumped around like their legs had been superimposed as tightly wound springs. They didn't land too heavily, though, which turned out to be a plus when one of them surprised me by landing on my shoulders from out of nowhere.

I scraped him off my head, and threw him down. He gurgled at me, but when I looked down at him, I saw the remains of Human eyes, bloodshot and rheumy. The twisted grimace of what remained of a Human face, and the mangled, torn remains of what had once been an ODST's outfit completed the picture. Dogtags sparkled in the sunlight against his sticky, gooey breast, but though bone shone clearly through several of the muscle clusters on his arms and legs, he continued to squirm as he tried to get up and get me.

Disgusted and sick all at once, I brought my armored boot down on his chest - center of mass, 'Taramee had said - and crushed it in. Immediately the body fell still, and with one boot in the middle of a broken ribcage of a former ODST, I began anew to shoot approaching Flood.

Bile stung my throat as thoughts swirled to a stop in my spinning mind. Humans... _Humans_... broken, decayed, deformed, defaced. I finally recognized the bigger forms as Elites and brutes as they too rushed at us - one had a vaguely apelike appearance, equally as mangled and deformed, and the other had a strung-out and half-broken off lizardy disposition.

They were oozing fluids, some of it internal, some of it simple decay, some of it what had once been their blood. Their skinless muscles shone in sticky, slimy glimpses. It made sense now, how some of them came with armor and some did not.

I felt the tears streak down my face behind my visor as I blew the chest out of a howling, long-dead Elite, and watched as it erupted all over several others. Some stumbled, but all kept coming, heedless of their fellow's death. We were holding the line, for now, and it was getting more and more of their attention. Soon we would have as much as we could handle, and it would be time to run - time to clear out John's path.

Ichor ran thick at our feet, the mangled, goopy remains of a thousand dead and decomposing bodies that ought never have come this far. I knew I had never felt so sick... these were ship staff, these were Marines, Engineers, ... ODSTs. _Humans_. Something had killed them, had stolen their bodies, and torn them into something horrible, then sent them all charging down a road none of them deserved and none should have been able to walk. It was just... wrong.

My carbine ran dry, and I had no more reloads, so I slung it over my shoulder for until I got more ammo for it. Wildly flung rounds from a spike rifle zipped past my head, one of the sixteen-inch metal spears ricocheting off a shield behind me with an audible twang and making the recipient of the hit grunt on impact. I brought the plasma rifles off my hips, and burned through their first coolant pack with my teeth gritted.

This was _wrong_... just _wrong_... Anger mingled with the pain in my gut as I blasted Flood to hell, one after the other. Dozens erupted or collapsed, but I just kept shooting. It was all I knew anymore, all I could do for them - kill them again, and pray that this time they stayed dead.

I gave a start when my elbow was grabbed and my balance hauled hard to the left, but it was just 'Taramee, dragging me back from the line. I blinked in astonishment as I realized I'd been alone up there for a full minute... everyone else had fallen back already. The world rushed up in dizzying speeds back to meet me, and I stumbled to regain my feet as the big guy dragged me along by sheer brute force.

"Come on!! They'll tear you apart if you stay here!" He was yelling, above that awful, gurgling, screaming din.

"I hear you!" I managed, catching my gait at last and taking back my balance to run on my own feet. "I hear you!" We made the line ahead of the Flood, and as we plunged into their number, I heard a line of explosions light the front rank of Flood forms up.

That really pissed them off.

Hundreds came sailing down out of the air on us, gurgling profanities and screaming obscenities, waving their claw-like arms and firing wildly aimed weapons with their hand-shaped hands. Behind them, hundreds more rushed to fill the opened gap the explosives had made, pushing our number hard. I heard voices I'd become familiar enough with to know who was who join the din, and I knew we were in trouble.

Flood jumped and jumped, until they were interspersed among our number without mercy or reprieve. Swords lit hot and angry, and as warriors I'd known only a few days were dragged down, others tried to cut them out and pull them away. I didn't have a sword, but that didn't remain a problem when a brute Flood practically handed me this knife-backed grenade launcher thing.

I chopped it in half with its own gun, then blew a big hole in the charging mass I was on the edge of. Claws raked at my shielding again and again, but couldn't get through. Plasma rounds, spikes, even SMG rounds pummeled across the energy barrier I wore, but according to the meter in my helmet, it was holding stubbornly at 44%... and with luck, it would continue.

I shot, hacked and slugged my way to the nearest living being that I could see, and as soon as I got near enough to it to identify who it was - a scrawny, lanky little guy they called 'Sasamee - the Flood clawing at him tore the poor sot in half at the waist. I got to cut his torso out of custody, and once it was mine, I sliced his noggin from his neck.

He'd thank me later when we met in hell.

Something big thundered up behind me, but I couldn't turn around. I was being shoved all over the place, and just when I thought I might be able to make it to another buddy, something hit me hard enough to slam me to the mud and reduce my tentative shielding to absolute zero. All the air was blasted from my lungs in one large gagging grunt, but before I even had time to inhale again, I felt claws scratching at my armor.

I kicked and punched and flailed a little, and when I caught something with my left hand that didn't peel off in my grasp, I pulled on it hard enough to bring myself upright. Soon as I was on my feet again, some Flood socked me hard across the jaw with his claw-hand, and it left scored lines across my visor that really obscured my vision and made my HUD flicker brightly.

Still holding that firm handhold I'd caught, I brought myself back around, and punched the idiot square in the head, causing the whole skull to erupt right off its neck. It was blind, and couldn't gurgle at me anymore, but it already knew where I was. So I grabbed it by the bulletproof vest it wore - gah, an ex-Marine - and slung it bodily into the lunging path of a bigger Flood form... it was moving too fast for me to correctly identify if it was brute or Elite in origin, but in the end it didn't matter.

My handhold slung away, dragging me out of the path of a pair of brute-based forms. They collided, hugged for a moment, then shoved one another away in search of where I'd gone off to. When I felt my handhold go high, I hauled it down and raised my feet. The huggable Flood got a boot each in the chest, and fell flat for their trouble. Standing again, I pulled that grasp I still had down, brought it around, and looked at it.

"'Taramee!" I exclaimed.

"You didn't think anyone else would let a Human hold their hand for this long, did you?" he shot back, laughing at me. "Come, little brother! There is more!" And he spun out from my sight, squeezing our arms between more Flood as he battled at one end and I at the other.

It kept me from getting separated, I guess...

The jagged lines written into the shock glass of my visor made the world look funny indeed, but everything was so close I only had to wildly swing my free fist and I'd hit something. I got handed another gun, this one a magnum. It proved to only have four rounds in the clip, but I scored four kills with it regardless. Nothing quite like pegging Flood at point-blank.

When three of them teamed up to drag me down, clawing and howling, 'Taramee dragged me out from under them, and when he was shoved under by a similar band, I hauled him out of that. Eventually we managed to claw and punch and shoot our way to another Elite, who closed his own hand around both of ours. We pivoted around one another like a trio of kids at a playground, but it worked... and I got the idea of what was happening when a fourth member joined in our little hand-holding circle. They were forming an empty place to turn their backs to, so they could have a warrior at each shoulder.

The new guy had a sword, and with it he sawed us a path to our fifth member. As soon as we'd unburied the guy, it became clearer that we were not the only ones to employ this seemingly silly tactic - Elites all through the Flood rush were banding up and bonding together, squeezing through the rush to stay together and keep their heads and their hooves.

Just when I thought it might go well after that, I discovered I was on the bridging again... and we were about to spill back into that garden pathway where we'd come in. All that lay between us and there was the broad platform connecting us to the parallel tunnels. If we got that far, of course... somehow our retreat hadn't gone nearly half as well as we'd hoped... somehow, the Flood had gotten ahead of us, and they were going to drag us down.

I saw a Hunter raise his shield and roar, and I leaned hard on my joint grasping, dragging all of us down into a crouch. Nobody protested when several dozen Flood flattened around us under that angry creature's onslaught. Braced low as we were, we took a solid hit and stood back up without being unbalanced. But now we had a clear shot to regroup with more of our own - who had, it seemed, formed a defensive line at the base of the bridging. Below us was open air, spanned by several hundred distantly spaced arched bands. If we could make it to that defensive line, we might well be able to hold it long enough to gather up the remnants of our dwindling number. Behind us, the Hunter lit off with his cannon, torching dozens of Flood at once. Bullets from a dozen different breeds of gun belted out in reply.

I was six steps from that line when 'Taramee dropped off the side of the bridging, and slung all of us to a stop, holding onto him.

Looking down at him dangling from all of our joint grasps, I heard Cortana one more time; _Don't make a girl a promise, if you know you can't keep it._ At that moment I knew we'd won. John was through. Now all we had to do was survive and get out.

But that was looking less and less likely to happen.

_**REBEL - G'WI 'CAERVASNEE**_

The fire lancing through the air was thickening. We could all see the Forerunner ship breaking free of the city, and the debris of all the closest surrounding structures breaking explosively beneath it. I found myself scowling at the retreating vessel, and wondering if the Ring was going to light beneath me at any moment or if that over-adventurous Arbiter had made it through after all.

I sat at the copilot's seat of the lead Phantom's left wingman, scowling out the port side windows. I had this sinking feeling, after all, that the retreat of that ship meant that something bad was about to happen... very soon.

I didn't know where Anuna was, nor even the Spartan I'd picked up, but I knew that the one I didn't know and had never met was somewhere ahead of my current vicinity. There were constant reports across the battlenet, and I'd been hearing about two armies - one of Flood, one of fools - that had met right below that launching ship.

I guessed it was brutes, assigned to keep the Flood from boarding Truth's glorified escape pod before it could fully launch. I almost felt sorry for them, then, to know their enemy would as soon eat them as kill them, and then someone else would have to come back through and kill them a second time over just to give them the rest all deceased deserved. To get this deeply into brute-controlled (and Flood-infested) territory, though, we'd had to take nearly half the compliment of Phantoms that our side of this conflict had.

But it had been considered that if a Honor Guard wanted a Human Demon, there must be some good tactical reason, as well as that it had been considered good bargaining for aid from said Humans if we could hand them one of their best to be positioned where he was needed most... not randomly lost out somewhere fighting enemy that really weren't threatening anything of real value at the moment.

Armed with this idea, it had not been hard to convince them to go. In fact, several of the pilots had volunteered. Already we'd had to hammer our way through three Forerunner defense drone fleets, and two brute Phantoms. Luckily, with things falling onto the Ring from the battle in space above it, things in the network were breaking when landed on, and it made the Sentinels easier to dispatch without getting swarmed by billions of them from the Ring over.

We'd lost two of our own birds so far, and had been forced to send four more back to base for necessary emergency repairs. As it stood, we now had a total of about forty Phantoms, and we were sticking together in a tight V formation, flying hot and fast for our destination.

Watching that Forerunner ship come out of the city and fly away from the Ring, only to open a massive slipspace rupture right in the middle of the spaceborne furball, I couldn't help but think that the Demon I was after - notably, not the one I wanted - was either nolonger going to be there, or he was long dead by now, slain by the departing.

The four-winged monstrous vessel spearheaded into the rippling rupture, and with a sharp, hot white flash, the body was swallowed. A heartbeat after the ship went through, the rupture sealed over, leaving little but rubble spinning in odd directions to signify that it had ever been there.

The battle between Sangheili and Jiralhanae continued on, as if nobody had noticed that Forerunner ship leaving but me. I growled to myself, feeling cross even though I wasn't quite sure why, and looked down through the window to my right instead. I knew without saying that a Prophet or two had been aboard that ship, or it would never have left the ground. That meant that the main perpetrators to this current war we were all fighting had gotten away, and probably cleanly. That little tidbit made me feel a little displeased.

"'Caervasnee." My pilot spoke up. "We are nearing the battle. It is the last known location of the Demon."

I looked over at him, then down at the controls. I didn't know what his name was... but he was a dandy good pilot, and I was glad I was on his Phantom and not someone else's. He could fly this bird in loops around everyone else in the sky, I'd discovered. "How far?"

"Twenty minutes." He said that sounding slightly distant, and it raised my head again. "The Flood below us seem to be combating Elites, honored one." He glanced back at me, then looked back across his control interface. "There are thousands of them."

"Flood usually come in such numbers." I mentioned, coldly.

He looked at me again. "No, honored one... thousands of _us_."

That perked my head. "How did so many come together, and why are they fighting Flood?"

"It is entirely possible they were attempting to storm the since departed Forerunner craft." He shrugged, adjusting a control that I wasn't sure of the purpose for. I wasn't a pilot - I mean, don't get me wrong. I can fly Banshees, but that's covered in boot. This guy, he could probably thread a needle with his Phantom. He knew where all her edges were.

"How are they holding up?" I asked, looking for the first time in earnest at my own controls. The thing about my phalanx of Phantoms was that all of us were riding light and empty - we were just birds and guns. That was deliberate, seeing as we had had a long way to go and no time to dally getting there. But it also made me think that if we had to make a pit stop and refuel on, say, ground troops... we could do it easy.

There were certainly enough birds to load up into. I felt my guts churn a little as I began to wonder if we'd need to leave anyone behind... thousands was hard to huddle into a mere forty birds. And that was if we didn't get taken out of the sky any more than we already had. "Not well, honored one." The pilot answered. "They have begun to scream for evac."

"Then let's give it to them." I decided, firmly.

He looked at me. "But the Demon..."

"Can take care of himself!" I snapped, glaring back at that inquisitive look I was getting. "Now get our formation down there and get our people out of that madness before they are all slain without honor or cause!!"

"Of course, honored one... right away." He turned away from me, but he didn't seem the least cowed by my (okay, it was childish of me to throw a tantrum...) outburst, but rather liberated by the decision. All Sangheili are taught from the smallest of children to value their own over all else, and it made perfect sense for him to be happy about the willingness of the change in plans.

Me... I was a little twisted, but I wasn't really that cold. There were too many of them down there to let them all be killed like that, and I knew full well the value of Flood combat forms. Especially amassed in an army that big. Hell... I could see the Flood half of that conflict from where I now sat, already!! I was also no fool. I knew we would need all the capable warriors we could get just to handle the brutes... Flood infestations aside.

I listened as the pilot of my bird relayed the change in orders, and watched as my phalanx of Phantoms all changed vectors. And I wasn't sure, but I thought I saw them all go just a little bit faster...

_**REBEL - ANUNA 'VADUMEE**_

I hit one knee, and felt the point of my thigh plate bend over. The Flood that had body slammed me tumbled on past, but I was still near enough to him to catch the blasted parasite and heft his bulk over my head as I pushed stubbornly back to my hooves. A moment ago I had seen a friend and fellow warrior go down screaming in agony, as dozens of the pustule-shaped infection forms dug into his body with their razor sharp cutters. I was quite bruised from the impact, as well as aching from the previous hammering my side of this conflict had suffered just prior to our initial retreat.

How Flood could jump! And how this one fell, when I hefted him over the edge into that open expanse of depthless void beneath the banded bridging we had just crossed. We were attempting to make a stand here, as it was as good a place as any to thin out the attacking front.

Flood jumped down into that hole of their own accord by the hundreds, gurgling and screaming as their long leaps fell graciously short despite their enhanced abilities. They had crowded the bridging, and were spreading out farther and farther to the sides, to the point where we just couldn't meet them to keep them back at all of them anymore. But though we were holding for the most part, we all knew, I think, that we couldn't hold here for long.

But we couldn't make distance, either - we couldn't flee, not without being cut down as we ran, picked off and dragged down under the pursuing horde. There were just too many. More Flood leapt in, more fell into the abyss below us all. I hacked and thrust and sliced with my sword, but the blades had begun to shine a dimmer hue, and soon enough there would be no more glow at all. The charge was running dry, and I had lost all my other armament.

As soon as my sword winked out, I was going to die a horrible death, but I refused to give in. I didn't want to die... and these Flood were about to find out just how much I did not want to die!!

I saw several impatient Flood on the bridging leap ahead of their pinned brethren, and then someone flung a plasma grenade sideways at the middle of one of the bands. When it blew, the band broke, separating the bridging and sending more hundreds of Flood down below us. I didn't know where they would wind up, but I hoped that it was too far down for them to survive the drop. I held to that hope, wishing I could hit a switch, push a lever, press a holographic button, and make the two sides separate, and leave us with only a fraction of the army hawing at our flank.

Claws raked across my back, busting open my meager shielding yet again, and I staggered forward, dipping the tips of my blade into the metal flooring beneath me. At that, the final energy reserve winked out, and the blades dispersed with a _poof_. I came around with it anyway, and struck the Flood in the chest so hard with that fist that I drove my hand down through his weakened ribs and right into the infection form hiding behind them.

The creature gurgled weakly, and fell off my hand, but I didn't have time to kick it off the edge before more Flood came at me. My Elites fought all around me, and somewhere among them was G'wi's Spartan, all fighting elbow to elbow, for the same cause, on the same ground. We had all bled for this, and we all knew there was little going to save us now we'd gotten this deep.

A warrior to my left slung me a Human rifle he'd swiped out of the hands of a Flood form, and I caught it in time to bury the butt end of it in the face of a brute form. Driven back, I had enough space to turn the weapon about and fire a three round burst into the chest cavity, breaking the Flood within.

I watched in despair as another warrior went down, pummeled into the metal ground where there were no free infection forms to take his body from him, and beaten senseless to stay there until one could find him. I couldn't get to him, but when I tried anyway, I found myself at the head of a charging wedge of fully eight of my brothers, all charging madly at that atrocity, swinging blades and butts and clubs.

I heard the resounding impact of a Jiralhanae gravity hammer somewhere, but it was behind me and I was focused; I needed to be, too. It never occurred to any of us, I don't suppose, that even if we successfully rescued our fallen brother, we'd be stuck on top of him until he regained consciousness. This would hamper all of us greatly.

But in the end, could we truly afford to reinforce the enemy with our own? I didn't think so, and apparently I wasn't the only one who did. I was about to wonder who it was that had that gravity hammer when I realized I was mishearing - I wound up looking up involuntarily for a moment when a Flood form socked me in the mandibles, and the sound came out of a nose-mounted turret under the cockpit of a floating Phantom.

"Phantoms!!" I roared, both ecstatic and apprehensive - were they ours? A moment later I decided I didn't care. We could always make them ours... but we had to get to them first. "Warriors, fall back! The Phantoms are here! Lay down suppression fire and retreat!"

I grabbed the warrior at my hooves before I moved with them, though, failing to think what that might mean for me. The weight of my comrade was slowing me down, and I quickly found myself in the back as my army raced away from the bridging and headed for the Phantoms.

I laughed with relief when I saw willing gravity lifts activate, sucking up my Elites happily. They were ours. They were ours!

The suppressing fire from the Phantoms - there were hundreds of them!! Oh, blessed Forerunners be praised! - kept the Flood back rather effectively, especially when coupled with the fact that said Flood army was caught on the precipice of a rather deep chasm. They kept on coming, though, leaping, running, flailing... shooting.

I was exhausted. I dragged forward, forgetting somehow that if I just let go of my burden, I could go farther, perhaps even a little faster, too. I just clung harder to the warrior in my grasp, dragging myself more than him as I fought to make that elongating distance. I wanted to win, I wanted to make it... I wanted to be able to sit down, and rest, and sleep, and not need to get up and run anymore.

Warriors ran back to me, picked me up, and hurried me to the lift, which swallowed me up right as I finally spotted that blasted Spartan... the idiot had gotten caught by the horde, and 'Taramee was charging in alone after him like yet another idiot.

I hoped for the best for both of them... a quick death, sudden and releasing. Neither deserved the torment of being alive when the Flood took them.

_**SPARTAN 093 - FLINT**_

I heard Anuna's holler, and I saw the Phantoms come up behind us, on the flat expanse of platform between the bridging and the parallel tunnels. I also saw them lay down their suppressing fire, allowing the majority of the Elites here to flee effectively to their bellies.

What I did not see was any of that saving fire come my direction. I had exactly one counter-plan to this. Blow everything to hell... and hope it didn't eat me too. I ducked nearly three dozen groping Flood hands as I darted through the masses, slamming some down, kicking others under, and shooting a few in the chest as I made my path. I angled sharply, moving quickly, ducking to scoop up the discarded grenades as I went.

Finally, when I began to drop them as much as I claimed them, I felt I might have enough... and I darted for distance to be able to prime them all. I lit the plazzies first - you only need a thumb for those. I flung them one after the other into the bridging, breaking it apart until it was utterly gone. Then I lit off the frags, blasting back the Flood that had gotten onto my side of that chasm.

I saw the rocket when the first one streaked for a Phantom's nose, but the bird nodded out of the way, and the warhead sailed clear, harmlessly. I picked up the nearest Elite and shoved him towards the waiting gravity lifts at the bellies of the birds. We were running out of time, and the hail of bullets hadn't let up an inch. My shielding had reached a tentative 12%, and it was just enough to keep their grimy fingers off of my shiny yellow hide, but not enough to deflect a rocket if one got aimed at me.

And more than one Flood had a launcher... I quickly found myself in the back, closest to the Flood and all by myself yet again, even as I loosed the last frag and turned tail to meet them. Flood from the other bridging bands rushed out after me, leaping like damned frogs, and it gave them an unfair advantage over my flat speed. I was quick on my toes, don't you doubt... but right then, I wished I was Kelly... or was it Linda?

Pretty sure it was Kelly.

A Flood slammed into me from the left, and we tumbled together until my mass and weight had smashed him into my newest paint job. I flung off the remnants of his tangled skeleton, and found myself under harrowing assault from all directions. I couldn't see anything except refracted light coming from the claw scoring across my visor, until something as big as me hit the masses and threw them off me.

'Taramee... had to be. Bugger was the only dude as chunky as I was. He snatched at my helmet - the only thing in reach, unfortunately - and dragged me out of the churning Flood, then once I was upright, he pushed me into a run once more. We got a communal three strides before a massive brute form landed on him, and flattened him.

I turned and hit a knee to stall my momentum, then lifted from it again and slammed my shoulders into that gurgling Flood form right as it reared up. 'Taramee was winded, but he wasn't slow. He scrambled back upright, and he went past me as he loosed a grenade of his own.

I had turned and followed him, but though I heard it explode, I got the distinct feeling it wasn't the only percussion sound to happen right then... and just as I had lined up between 'Taramee and the Flood mass, I felt something hard hit me in the back.

It was like a ton and a half of titanium bricks all slamming home at once, in a pointed force that all wanted through me at once. I didn't fall - instead I was picked up, and thrown. I flew right into 'Taramee, and he lifted too. My limbs went weak and then stopped reporting in, and a static fuzz replaced all cohesive thought in my head.

Dizziness set in and the world slung quickly around to the left, heading up. I felt us drop and tumble, but I couldn't move... nothing would respond. I kept insisting to myself that I had to get up, I had to keep running... but nothing would move. I felt hands close around my shoulders, hooking up under my arms and locking around my chest, lifting me. My head lolled forward, as if all the bones in my body had vanished, leaving me limp as a blood-sodden rag. I couldn't even feel anything anymore... it was almost as if my consciousness had been completely removed from my physical body, and yet I still viewed the world through a claw-scored Mjolnir visor.

The HUD was completely gone, the helmet dark and dead. Slowly, I began to feel things come back - and though the first thing I knew was the weightlessness of being in a gravity lift, the second thing I knew was pain.

A great, burning, fiery clawed hand had a hold of my body from the back, and every little motion made it squeeze me a little harder. My breath came back to me in a cough, but it also made me spasm with the action and that caused that hand to dig its claws in all the deeper. I couldn't cry out, though, when I tasted that familiar old metallic flavor on my tongue... my mouth was filled with my own blood.

Sound started to check back in shortly after that revelation, and I heard what had to be the entire Phantom's worth of newly rescued Elites all calling my name, wanting to know if I was alive.

Stinking split-lips.

_**REBEL - G'WI 'CAERVASNEE**_

I was out of my seat almost as soon as the first wounded warrior made it aboard the Phantom I was riding. I caught his gasping form and pulled him to a seat at the wall, where he gratefully slumped down. "What happened? Why did you attack the Flood when you must have known there were too many?" I asked, all in a rush. He was covered in that smelly green-brown ichor that oozed out of all reasonably aged Flood forms, but after thinning the layer on his face with a wipe of a hand, he let his mandibles hang loose and just gasped openly.

He rolled his tired eyes up to meet mine as more of them loaded in, all equally disposed as this first one. "We accomplished our goal."

"What goal? To lead the Flood in a merry little chase ending in your deaths?" I asked, astonished that he could see honor in such a pointless endeavor.

"The Demon... the Demon got through. He will kill Truth, and stop this madness. We had to draw out the Flood to grant him passage aboard Truth's cowardly escape. We had to do it... there was no one else. But the Demon got through."

I drew back from him, feeling overwhelmed. So. It hadn't been as pointless as I had first thought... and they had not, after all, been an army of fools. Their mission had been an honorable one after all. To make way for a greater warrior who would doubtless strike terror into the black heart of that arrogant Prophet as he attempted to flee his aggressors... and shortly discovered how futile that was when he discovered he'd brought the biggest, baddest one with him.

I felt a swell of pride for the valor and bravery of these Elites... only the bravest of the brave few would dare challenge the Flood - least of all so many! - regardless of the mission or the stakes involved. And these - all of these - had done it, willingly. "Was there another Demon - did you see another one? With your number, perhaps?" I asked.

The tired warrior nodded, simply.

My spirits leapt for joy. My surly old Human had survived!! He was well, and quite possibly among those we had rescued just now, if I knew his stubbornness like I thought I did. He didn't have the best of luck, I knew, but he was pretty good at getting back up and trying again despite what was thrown at him.

But this... for a brother... he was not so unlike us as he had liked to think. Spartans were very much like Sangheili, like Elites, and they would die for one another as quickly as they would live, it seemed. I returned to the cockpit as the last space was filled and our Phantoms rode heavily upwards into the sky away from the Flood.

Flood were relentless, yes, but they couldn't fly! They would need to find a ship of some kind in order to catch us now. I felt pretty good about myself, as well. I had made a good decision, to come and rescue my fellow warriors. In doing so, I had found my Spartan, the one I had actually been after, all this time. I'd found him, and as soon as we made landfall back at the base where these birds had set out from, I could seek out which Phantom he'd caught a ride in, and then we'd probably have another argument.

I could almost picture him - smug, half-cocked, giving me one of those looks that would make anyone else squirm. He'd be standing there looking bored, some random kind of rifle propped on a shoulder, staring off into space and wondering what to do with himself now he had nothing more to shoot at. He would probably complain about my timing, just to give me a hard time. He'd probably also complain about my not helping out with the actual fighting, too.

But then, that was just his way.

It occurred to me then that I didn't even know his name... if he had one. Did Spartans have names? They were, to my understanding, set apart from the Human's warrior classes as few, far between, and relatively unstoppable. They also never seemed to fight in any kind of real cohesive groups, either.

There had been sightings and reports of seeing two or three in a single place, but that was a long time ago. Of late, and especially since the glassing of that world the Humans had called Reach, they had been thinned out, apparently, and were only to be found alone. I had found one... he'd been after another, but ultimately they'd never met.

Was the counter-magnetism that fierce?

I watched the Ring's picturesque scenery blow past through the portal windows for a time before looking back over at the pilot. I'd forgotten to ask that warrior if Anuna had been among them... but we were almost there, and in just five or ten more minutes we'd be there, and then it would be time to meet and mingle and try not to be covered in that communal goo that everyone else seemed to be wearing while I sought out familiar faces... and familiar golden visors.

_**REBEL - ANUNA 'VADUMEE**_

I had developed a headache over the course of the trip, but now it was blessedly overwith. I departed the Phantom and found it difficult not to drop to my knees as I wobbled away from the outpouring of battle-weary Elites.

We had fought a hard fight, and I didn't even know if we'd done any good. For certain we'd drawn out the Flood, but had we drawn them far enough? We'd barely covered a fraction of the intended distance! I felt every impact, every slamming, every bruise I owned, and I wondered if I didn't have a few fractured bones to my name as well. But I saw the glimmer of a golden visor among descending Elites in a Phantom to my right, so I went that direction.

What I found when I got there was not what I'd thought, though. The sheidling engine was completely gone, and the armor plating was torn out in jagged shards all over him. Huge punctures stitched the length of his Human frame, and bright red blood trickled from all of them.

That same iron-based ichor was all over all four of the Elites huddled around him, too. Three of them had their fingers in holes, trying to hold them shut and stem the bloodflow, while the fourth battled with the complexities of a medkit and tried to hurry and apply the contents to those grievous wounds.

I knelt above the Spartan's head, looking down at the jagged scoring lines written deeply across his fractured visor. Cracks had formed around the gouges, but it hadn't quite shattered out yet. At first I thought he was already gone, but then he moved his head, as if following my motions.

I reached up, and unsealed the jawline of the helmet, before sliding it away, and setting it aside. Solemn dove grey eyes blinked up at me from a face smeared over with regurgitated blood. I knew I was unfamiliar with Human anatomy from a Healer's perspective, but no creature, no matter how savage or advanced, was doing well if they were spitting their own blood.

"Hey, you don't look so good." I greeted.

"No shit." He mumbled back.

I smiled - even badly wounded, he couldn't lay off the sarcastic quipping. His features creased for a moment, before relaxing, suggesting he could still feel everything the four Elites tending those wounds were doing. "You'll pull through this." I told him. "Nothing else could kill you, so why Flood?"

"Because," he began, pausing to taste his lips, "I didn't know how to face them."

I scoffed. "With honor, and valor, and with your head held high, and your guns out ahead." I shook my head a little, though. "I hope you have more blood in you than a typical Sangheili has in him... or you may well have lost too much."

"He got through." Flint whispered. "John. He made it. He'll catch Truth... stop this."

"I'm glad to hear it." I sighed. He was starting to fade out... and while it didn't really appear that that would be the end of him, it was also never a good idea to allow wounded warriors who had suffered massive bloodloss to sleep... because often it was only adrenalin that kept a dying warrior alive long enough to recover. "You stay with us, you hear me, Human? Don't you give up now."

He blubbered for a moment, before grimacing heartily and curling upwards partway with a protesting growl. He got a hand around one of the warriors holding him down, and it made the fellow whimper, but they in turn pressed him back down. He let go a tired sigh, before looking back up at me. "... fingers in my holes..." he grumbled.

I gave a tentative, nervous laugh. "Only the ones you weren't born with, I'm sure." I assured him. "You did well, you know. You fought bravely, and you got your Elites out. Alive, I might mention."

'Taramee looked up from the application of the final contents of his meager medical kit. "He took the strike meant to end me." He put in.

"Idiot." I decided. It earned me that signature smirk the guy always wore... it was a good sign. I inhaled. My next idea was a little brash, and it might rise some ire, but nobody in that huddle around the Human right then would ever even think to protest. He deserved it... and there was pretty good chance that he wasn't going to last too much beyond this point. So I took a breath, and I said my piece.

It might well be the last thing he ever heard from anybody.

"You have earned your warrior's title this day, Spartan. You will be known as 'Zelisee from this day forth - it is a word meaning 'indestructible', followed by a proven warrior's honorific. It will be what all other warriors call you. You are one of us now."

Just as I had predicted, 'Taramee and the other three all raised a bloody fist and cried a hearty, agreeing, "_Wort_!!"

SPARTAN 093 - 'ZELISEE

_Indestructible warrior_... that was a scary thought. But in all truth, it was no less than what the Marines thought of my ilk. I supposed it was justified if this crowd got the same idea... especially considering what I'd just been through.

I was lightheaded as hell, and shaking in what had suddenly become very cold air. The Elites had managed to stop most of the bleeding, but I knew I was really out of it... I'd heard them. Their voices echoed in the air around me and inside the cavity between my ears like thunderous applause, but I'd heard them. They thought I was immortal...

And when it was over, they'd mark me as MIA just like the UNSC would, and nobody would ever testify otherwise. I couldn't bear to tell them what I knew without being told... I wasn't going anywhere. I wasn't going to get back up this time. I'd fallen for the last time, had fought my last fight.

Fighting, falling, capture, torment and death, and when it seemed my story might have been overwith, it wasn't. Revival and escape, earning camaraderie at the hands of my enemies, and now having fought among them, beside them, as one of them, they even had a name for me.

I looked up past the squadron huddled around me at the burning skies overhead. Phantoms hung in a circle around me like a turning halo of brilliant purple songbirds, each one pulsing as if their song was their heartbeats. This ring was doomed. But we, at least, had made it possible for others, elsewhere, to suffer some other fate than ours, and perhaps one not so dark. If John made it...

Well... that's a tale I daresay I won't be able to tell.

Meanwhile... getting some sleep never sounded so good.

_End Credits..._


	7. Epilogue

UNSC Office of Internal Affairs

**14 January 2553**

**Lord Hood's Office**

"It's impressive." The gravelly voice of the aging Admiral carried well in the otherwise silent, simply-decorated office. Pale beige carpet concealed what would otherwise have been a concrete floor, and plain, undecorated walls surrounded three quarters of the room with regulation gray. Behind the black oak desk, the view of east Africa stretched away into almost nothingness, the humidity in the atmosphere obscuring the horizon line. The floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall windows helped the view to swallow the small room, and make it seem like a cutoff of two very different worlds.

But it wasn't. This was Earth. Or, what remained of her, anyway.

Lord Hood raised his bespectacled eyes from the digital page in his hands, the semi-transparent sheet of carbon nano-technology shining brightly with glossy black words, printed in digital text that would scroll at the touch of a finger. "You're very lucky, you know that right?"

_Lucky..._ It was something he'd never been. Not even now.

The massive frame of the man seated on the other side of the desk from the Admiral suggested he felt otherwise. With skin so pale it was almost transparent, and a crosshatching of half-hidden scars written deeply into it, the sable shade of his buzz-cut sandy hair almost looked dark. His large, heavily muscled shoulders had rolled forward, and his head was tilted down, so his soft, dove-grey eyes stared blankly at the air just above his knees.

Leaned against one of those knees was a carbon-steel cane... recently dismissed from long months of torturous therapy, surgery and recovery, the cane was a recent improvement over the crutches of the previous week. It was a miracle, really, that he could walk again at all, after what had happened to him. Outwardly, it was the only sign the big man was anything other than top-notch. He wore simple fabric fatigues, but they did little to hide the scars in his eyes... the terrors witnessed, the horrors seen and experienced. He wasn't acting shaken, but the shallow wrinkle between his pale, tawny brows suggested he was considering a frown.

He might not have even heard the Admiral speak at all.

"He did it, you know. The Master Chief. Truth is dead, and the Ark was destroyed." Lord Hood began. "He didn't make it back, though. You missed the memorial, sadly... but the Elites all speak highly of you. I'm certain that John would have been proud. I thought you might want to know that."

The man sitting across from him looked up at last. _John... he wasn't the only one who didn't make it back._

Hood sighed. Setting the digital paper down lightly, he rested his arms on the armrests of the chair he sat in and leaned back somewhat. "Flint..."

_He died on High Charity, before a thousand jeering witnesses. He never made it home._

"My name..." The sound was abrupt, but it trailed off into silence before it finished. The report told the story, but not all of it. There was something important missing, something he had not had opportunity to add before now. The Admiral deserved to know. The gray eyes sharpened a little, and he finally met the Admiral's gaze. "My name is 'Zelisee."


End file.
